


The Chains We Forge

by iamjasonssmirkingrevenge (mizzykitty)



Series: Chains 'verse [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, Caning, Flogging, M/M, Multi, Pain Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:29:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizzykitty/pseuds/iamjasonssmirkingrevenge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian decides to take his relationship with Jason to the next level. However, this brings with it a multitude of complications. Will his family ever approve?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [Mikimoo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikimoo/pseuds/Mikimoo) for all the support and for being my DCU guru and to [Kikibug13](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kikibug13/pseuds/kikibug13) for the AO3 invite so I could post this blasted thing! :)

**_We forge the chains we wear in life._ – Charles Dickens**

Damian disabled the alarms and slid silently in through the window. The apartment was dark, though that did little to hide its shabby, filthy nature. There were dirty clothes littering the floor, stacks of old pizza boxes and beer cans placed like works of art on various makeshift box tables, and the whole place reeked of the overflowing ashtrays that he knew had to be lying around somewhere, although he couldn’t immediately see any. He crept closer to the bed, stopping about a foot away just to watch him sleep. He’d been watching him all night, in fact. He’d set himself the personal challenge to prove his skill at stealth, for stalking the Red Hood undetected was no minor feat. 

‘Hood had been in top form tonight. Damian had studied his movements with a faint smile and a simmering heat in his stomach. There was something about the way ‘Hood moved that still screamed Robin even after all these years – a certain grace and fluidity that reminded Damian strongly of both Nightwing and Red Robin - but that’s where the similarities ended. Red Hood’s acrobatics lacked Nightwing’s flexibility and flare and Red Robin’s speed and agility. No one could ever claim that his fighting style was beautiful, but it was brutal, efficient, and deadly. His attacks were concerted, no extraneous movement, every strike designed with one goal in mind, not to disable or distract, but to kill. 

Damian had watched him kill a man tonight. It was the first time in a long time that he’d seen someone die, and it had sent an electric shiver down his spine. Even after all these years, he still recalled vividly what it had felt like to take the life of another human being, that surge of power and dominance as you felt their weak and thready pulse slowing inexorably against your fingers. He licked his lips and palmed himself through his jeans. Alas, that pleasure was no longer his to savour. A Wayne kept his promises. Still…once you ate from the Tree, it was impossible to return the knowledge, or the memory of the power you once wielded.

There were compensations, though. He smirked down at Jason’s naked form, the sweep of his broad chest, one well-muscled forearm flung over his face, a sculpted calf escaping from under the sheets to hang down over the side of the narrow cot. Even now he radiated power and potential energy like a taut bow. Damian wanted that power, wanted to own it, bend it to his will. Perhaps the rush wasn’t quite the same as killing, but it was intense nonetheless.

With a graceful leap, he landed on top of Jason, knees bracketing his hips. Jason started awake with an undignified yelp, though there was nothing comical about the flurry of punches that would have fractured Damian’s skull, if they’d connected. Damian caught his wrists easily, though restraining Jason was a bit harder. Damian had grown tall like his father, and he was taller than both Grayson and Drake, but he didn’t have Jason or his father’s sheer strength. He had the ability to put on the muscle, but he’d decided a few years back that the bulk would interfere with his preferred style of fighting, so he’d chosen to keep himself fairly lean. Perhaps he couldn’t quite take Red Hood in a flat out wrestling match, but it didn’t really matter. In a real fight, ‘Hood would never get close enough to touch him. That wasn’t hubris, that was just fact.

“You sleep too heavily. You should get a dog,” Damian said.

Jason froze at the sound of his voice. Damian felt him slowly relax in his grip.

“I have alarms. What do I want a pet for?” Jason asked.

“A well trained dog isn’t as easily disabled as an electronic alarm. Besides, pets have a variety of uses,” Damian said as he deliberately wedged his knee up between Jason’s legs.

Jason sucked in a sharp breath, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet apartment. 

Damian pressed his wrists into the mattress and leaned down to nuzzle at his neck. Jason smelled terrific, like sweat and metal and gunpowder, and when he sank his teeth into the side of his neck, he tasted salt and the faint metallic tang of blood. 

Jason bucked in his hands, a low moan escaping through clenched teeth. Damian loved feeling him struggle in his grip, though it was a fantasy that they both perpetuated. Jason could’ve thrown him through a wall by now, if he’d wanted to. But even the knowledge that it wasn’t real turned Damian on, because it meant Jason’s submission was willing.

Damian sucked a bruise into Jason’s neck, just above the angry red bite mark. “You smell fantastic,” he felt constrained to say as he ground his knee mercilessly against Jason’s groin.

“Tired…forgot to shower…didn’t know you’d…ah!” Jason’s hips arched up involuntarily as Damian bit him hard, mostly to shut him up.

“When I want an apology, I’ll beat it out of you,” Damian growled as he lapped at the small amount of blood that oozed from the bite wound he’d made just behind Jason’s ear.

Jason shivered. 

Damian captured Jason’s open, panting mouth. His tongue delved into that hot well, and when he pulled back slightly, he was pleased that Jason arched up to meet him. By the time he broke off the kiss, Jason was shamelessly rutting against him and flexing his wrists meaningfully in Damian’s grip.

“You want to touch me?” Damian asked coolly.

“Yes,” Jason breathed.

“Have you earned that privilege?” Damian said with a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He knew how much Jason hated being asked questions in the middle of sex. His pet took direction well enough, but he hated thinking beyond immediacies like yes and more. But for Damian, sex was as much mental as it was physical, and he loved the byplay.

Jason frowned as a look of irritation flitted over his features. “I…” he trailed off, struggling to think of something to say.

Damian resisted the urge to laugh at his efforts. “Have you been a good boy today?” he asked instead.

Jason’s eyes narrowed, and Damian suddenly remembered the man Red Hood had left broken in a dingy alley, not two hours ago. For one heart stopping moment, he realized he’d inadvertently crossed the line. What Red Hood and Robin did or didn’t do had nothing to do with Jason and Damian, and for all of Jason’s concessions to Damian’s demands, there was a hard limit to their play, and they both knew exactly where the line was.

Damian quelled the rising panic in his chest and hardened his expression. “I asked you to masturbate while thinking about me once a day, without coming. Have you been faithful?”

Jason swallowed hard, and Damian watched the anger drain slowly from his eyes. He was always so quick to anger, but it often took hours to calm him after something had set him off. 

“Yesterday, and the day before. Today was…busy.” From the frown on his face, Damian knew he was thinking about work – most likely he’d been stalking his victim all day. “But-”

“But?” Damian said forcefully, trying to take back control of the situation. Damn his slip of the tongue, Jason thinking about work and coming up with legitimate excuses was about the farthest thing from what he wanted. “You couldn’t be bothered to follow the simplest of orders _but_?” he hissed. He let go of Jason’s wrists and opened a compartment in his utility belt to retrieve a ziptie. “Your insolence astounds me, Todd. Not only are you not allowed to touch me, but I’m going to have to punish you, as well.”

Jason’s eyes darkened and Damian felt him shiver beneath him. That was more like it. He quickly ziptied Jason’s hands to the metal bed rail and climbed off the bed. He took off the modified version of his Robin utility belt, which he wore when in civilian dress, and dropped it to the floor with a dull clink. Jason watched with keen interest as Damian slowly stripped off first his dark blue blazer, and then his white dress shirt. Lacking an actual place to hang these items and not wanting to throw his designer clothes onto the dirty floor, he settled for draping them over the back of a dilapidated chair. In retrospect, it was a good thing he hadn’t let Jason rip his clothes off – he quite liked that shirt. He pulled his undershirt over his head and dropped it onto the chair seat. Then he kicked off his Converse and slid his jeans and boxer briefs down over his hips, eventually kicking them to the side as well.

Jason licked his lips at the sight of Damian’s bobbing erection, and his hands twitched involuntarily in their restraints. 

“Perhaps next time you’ll think twice before disobeying me,” Damian said haughtily.

Jason let out a low, frustrated growl.

Damian smirked. Jason could have slipped those restraints in a heartbeat, he knew, but he also knew that he wouldn’t. He was now firmly back in control, and as long as he didn’t make any more careless mistakes, Jason would take everything he dished out, and then some. He turned and grabbed a shiny black leather briefcase off an overturned box cum table in the corner. Its presence was completely out of place in Jason’s ramshackle “safe house” as he liked to call it, and for good reason, because it belonged to Damian. He put in the combination, which only he knew, and clicked open the gold snaps. Inside were his implements – whips, floggers and crops of various types, a variety of restraints from metal to leather to rope, and of course lubrication and condoms. There was one other item in there, something he’d been longing to use for a while now but hadn’t quite worked up the courage. The moment never felt quite right. He stroked a finger over the soft black leather. Maybe tonight. For the moment, he selected a leather flogger with two-foot long lashes. It was one of their mutual favourites. 

He stalked back to the bed, swinging the flogger idly in his hand. Jason watched him with a naked hunger that made Damian’s mouth go dry. The first lash was hard, fast, and left a bright red mark on Jason’s chest. Jason hissed through his teeth. Damian never started slow, never bothered to ease him into it. He lacked the patience for such things and anyway, Jason could take it. He followed it up with a third, and a fourth, until he’d set up a steady rhythm. Jason writhed beneath the lash, his back arching with each blow, every muscle tense and straining. Damian stroked himself roughly in time to the snap of the lash. Jason was never more beautiful than when he was in pain, and it just made Damian want to hit him harder, to push him as far as he’ll go and then a little further. After a few more minutes, Damian was forced to stop before he came just from this. 

Jason panted softly, struggling to catch his breath as though he’d been running hard. His chest was red from neck to navel, and his skin was slick with sweat. 

Damian turned his back on him and took a deep, shuddering breath. He counted to ten as he slowed his racing heartbeat, a technique taught to him by his mother of all people. He exhaled silently. Feeling more in control, he exchanged the flogger for the cane. He loved the clean, sharp welts it made, and the precision with which he could inflict pain. Jason, however, was not so fond of it.

Jason’s eyes snapped to the cane and then back to Damian’s face, where he gave him a long, searching look.

Damian had to work hard to keep the smirk off his face. “I did say you would be punished. Now turn over.”

Jason clenched his jaw stubbornly, but he turned over without so much as a protest. Damian waited while he worked to rotate his wrists in the restraints. Zipties were remarkably unforgiving, particularly with their sharp plastic edges, and Damian had been sure to tie him tightly. After a final grunt and a hard, frustrated jerk, Jason managed to work it out. 

“Tt,” Damian muttered under his breath. He went to the head of the bed to check Jason’s wrists, to make sure he hadn’t shredded them in his impatience. One of the negative consequences of Jason’s high tolerance for pain was that he had a rather blasé attitude toward injuries that annoyed Damian whenever he was overly careless with himself. Satisfied that there would be no lasting damage to Jason’s wrists, Damian returned to the side of the bed. 

The cane whistled through the air and landed with a satisfying thwack on Jason’s ass. Jason gasped, flinching hard. He really didn’t like that, Damian thought with a sadistic thrill. He bent down and slowly licked a wet stripe down the angry red welt, loving the feel of the hot, raised flesh against his tongue. 

“Oh, god, Damian…” Jason moaned loudly into his mattress. 

Damian grinned as he blew lightly on the wet strip he’d left. Jason squirmed, grinding against the bed in his excitement. 

“Stop that,” Damian commanded.

Jason groaned in protest, but he ceased his movement nonetheless. 

Damian’s next blows landed across Jason’s broad back, three hard whacks to the same spot. Jason hissed, in genuine pain this time. Damian worked him over deftly, varying the location and intensity of the blows so that he wouldn’t be able to predict the next one, whilst creating a rather aesthetically pleasing crosshatch pattern. Jason’s skin wasn’t particularly easy to mark, and things like the flogger never left lasting impressions. The cane, however, could leave welts that lasted for days, and it made Damian smile to know that his little work of art could be viewed again at a later date. 

Jason writhed against the bed, his hisses and gasps becoming increasingly louder and less controlled, until Damian landed a particularly hard blow to the sensitive small of his back, and Jason actually cried out. Damian was so hard it actually hurt, and though his hair was wet with sweat and his arm ached, those hard won cries were something that he yearned for, that he dreamt about and masturbated to late at night when the manor was still and he was sure that everyone else had gone to bed. The cane sang through the air, harder, faster, until Jason’s back, butt, and thighs were a mess of red and blue welts and he was thrashing and swearing incoherently. Suddenly, Damian couldn’t take it anymore. He dropped the cane and rushed to retrieve Jason’s buck knife from under the mattress. He sliced the ziptie with one swift stroke, the knife clattering to the ground a second later. 

Jason twisted and lunged at him with a speed that startled Damian. Before he could react, he was body slammed onto his back, Jason’s considerable weight pinning him to the mattress. Jason kissed him the way Jason always kisses, desperate and sloppy and absolutely _filthy_. His hands were hot and hard all over Damian’s body, as though he might die if he didn’t touch every inch of Damian’s skin. He ground a thigh against Damian’s leaking erection, and Damian bit back a shout, his back arching into the touch.

“Please, can I…?” Jason begged, his voice raw from shouting. 

“I might kill you if you don’t,” Damian growled. He leaned over the side of the bed and scrabbled around in the briefcase on the floor until he found what he was looking for. He tossed the condom and lube at Jason. 

Jason tore open the condom package with his teeth and slipped it on with a well-practised stroke. Lube came next, and then Jason’s sticky hand was hiking Damian’s leg up onto his shoulder. Jason penetrated him in one hard thrust, and Damian bit the inside of his cheek to choke back a snarl at the fierce burn. Jason never bothered with easing into anything either, and he started to move before Damian even had time to catch his breath. Jason rocked into him hard and fast, and Damian wrapped his legs around his waist to pull him closer, because as much as it hurt he desperately needed more. Jason slipped a hand between their sweat-slick bodies to wrap around Damian’s dick. Damian arched off the bed, even as he gritted his teeth and swallowed down a cry of pleasure. Jason jerked him roughly in time to his thrusts, the calloused friction of his palm at once so good and too much. Damian sank his teeth into Jason’s shoulder, partly out of spite for the punishing pace Jason was setting but mostly to muffle the pathetic, needy sounds trying to escape his iron control.

Jason gripped his hips tight enough to bruise. “Oh, fuck, D-Da-ah-” he stammered. “Can I…come…please…?”

“No!” Damian snapped. He was so close, he just needed something, something more and he wasn’t sure what. On impulse, he wrapped his hand around Jason’s throat and squeezed, feeling Jason’s frenetic pulse hammering against his palm.

Jason’s eyes widened, and for a second Damian saw real fear filter through those blue depths. Then Damian was coming, his body contorting as every muscle strained in silent orgasm. Jason followed him over the edge a moment later, his whole body shaking in Damian’s hands as he choked out a hoarse shout. 

Damian let go of his neck and Jason collapsed to the side of him, his chest heaving as he dragged in ragged lungfuls of air. Damian petted his sweat-damp hair in an awkward attempt to soothe him. Jason probably hadn’t really been afraid, because why would he be, but Damian felt a pang of guilt nonetheless at springing something so intense on him without warning, and without any prior discussion. 

After a few minutes of mutual breath catching, he propped himself up on an elbow to study Jason’s face for any signs of distress.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Jason whispered hoarsely. His breathing had evened out into something approaching normal, although Damian caught him wincing when he swallowed.

Damian bit his lip and looked away. He always tried so hard to control himself that he could never really relax, not fully. Jason made it easier to let go. Too easy, in fact, and in the last few months, Damian had grown lax in his company. This was precisely the sort of thing that happened when he failed to control himself – his baser instincts slipped out, and people got hurt.

“Hey, stop it,” Jason growled, giving his shoulder a rough shake. “Look at me.”

“Tt,” Damian muttered, though he forced himself to meet Jason’s eyes.

“It’s fine. You just surprised me, is all.”

Damian tilted Jason’s chin up to inspect the damage. Jason let him with minimal eye rolling. There were numerous bite marks, some hickeys, and now a collection of finger-shaped bruises decorating his neck, but there didn’t seem to be any permanent harm done. Jason was even breathing fine now. Damian nodded. He let go of Jason and lay down next to him, sighing in contentment as Jason’s strong arms wrapped around him, holding him tight. 

They lay like that for a time, listening to each other’s hearts beating as the sweat cooled on their skin.

Then suddenly, Damian remembered the item in the briefcase. He’d wanted to give it to Jason last week, but they’d had an argument that night over some petty thing. Now he rolled over and searched around in the case for it.

“I have something for you,” Damian said, keeping it hidden in his hand. “You don’t have to accept it, if you don’t want to. I’ll understand if it’s too much.” 

Jason raised an eyebrow at him and sat up. “Did you buy me a Gulf Stream? You know I always wanted my own private jet.”

Damian gave him a pained look. “You’re such an idiot.”

Jason grinned. “It’s part of my charm. Now come on, make with the present.”

Damian rolled his eyes. Leave it to Jason to totally ruin the moment. “Fine, here,” he growled, dropping it unceremoniously into Jason’s hand.

Jason stared down at the strap of leather, mystified. “I’m sorry, what is this?” he asked after a moment.

“It’s…” Damian’s face heated, “…it’s a collar.”

Jason blinked at him. “For…me?” he asked incredulously.

Damian was glad for the darkness of the room, because by now his face felt like it was on fire. “Yes, Todd, for you. Why would I give it to you if it was for anybody else?” he snapped to cover his own discomfiture. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back!” He made a grab for it, but Jason deftly avoided him.

“Hey, stop, I didn’t say that. Just…gimme a second to think, will you?” 

Damian huffed out an irritable sigh, but he clamped down on his rising agitation with an effort of will. Unsure what he was supposed to do now or how long this was going to take, he settled for crossing his arms and glaring at Jason.

Jason stroked the soft leather of the collar contemplatively. “You…you really want me to wear this?” he asked, looking Damian in the eye.

Damian bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. “If you don’t want to, I-”

“No, it’s not that,” Jason said quickly. “It’s not that at all. I just want you to be sure that this is what you want. I mean, right now, it’s not like we’re exclusive or anything. NOT,” he raised his voice to pre-empt Damian, “that I’ve been with anyone else. Well, just the one time after our first time in that alley, but how was I to know you’d come back for more? Anyway, the point is, I need to know that we’re on the same page here about what this means, because I can’t…I can’t go down that road again.”

Damian took Jason’s hand in his own and pressed a kiss to his chafed wrist. He felt Jason’s heartbeat racing against his lips. “It’s what I want, Jason,” he said simply.

Jason smiled then, not a devious smirk or a manic grin, but a small, shy smile that made Damian’s heart beat faster as a strange, fluttery feeling grew in his chest. He’d never known Jason to be shy about anything - the man could shamelessly discuss the vilest things without flinching. But watching Jason smile down at the collar in his hand, he could totally see it. 

“Would you mind if I…?” Jason asked as he started to wrap the collar around his right wrist. “It’s kind of hard to strike fear into the criminal heart while wearing some other guy’s collar around your neck.”

Damian snorted. “Whatever,” he said with a dismissive wave.

Jason buckled on the collar with a few deft tugs, and then they both stared at it, each silently considering the changes this would render in their lives, and the implications and potential ramifications.

Then Damian launched himself at Jason, shoving him hard enough into the wall at his back to knock the wind out of him. Damian straddled his legs and kissed him, open mouthed and demanding as he felt his dick stir to life once more. Jason kissed him back just as fiercely and this time when they made love, it was slower, though not gentler really because neither of them knew how to do that.


	2. Chapter 2

Damian watched Jason smoking on the windowsill, his face half lit by the moon and a nearby streetlamp. In civilian clothing, a t-shirt and jeans at the moment, Damian always thought he looked younger and sort of lost. Graceful curls of smoke drifted up from his cigarette, wreathing him in a hazy glow. Damian snorted at himself, and wondered when he’d taken to mooning over Todd like a lovesick puppy. The thought had no heat to it though, no real resentment. He was content - no, actually happy - for the first time in a long time, and he wasn’t going to allow himself to dissect the feelings until they lost all meaning, not this time. 

“What?” Jason asked, at the sound of his snort.

“Is this all you eat, cereal, pizza, and beer?” Damian complained as he shoved a half-eaten bowl of sugary cereal way from him. It was the only thing he could find in Jason’s miserable apartment to eat, and it had tasted disgusting. He was used to eating proper meals prepared by Alfred, and coming home from patrol to a well-stocked fridge. This was, well, pathetic. 

“Sorry it’s not up to your usual standard, your highness,” Jason said. “What would you like next time, rack of lamb? Perhaps I should get my ass in the kitchen and bake you a pie?”

“I’m partial to apple, and I think you would look fetching in a little pink apron, Todd,” Damian deadpanned.

Jason gaped at him for a long, charged moment, and then he huffed out a short laugh. “Cross dressing, really? Let’s not and say we did. Or better yet, let’s just not.”

“Duly noted,” Damian said. “It’s really more Drake’s thing, anyway.”

Jason choked on his smoke. “What?” he wheezed.

“I’ll spare you the details, since brain bleach hasn’t been invented yet,” Damian said with a dismissive wave. “But speaking of Drake, there’s something we need to discuss. Come here.” 

Jason flicked the remainder of his cigarette out the window and came to join him at the rickety folding table that served as a dining table. 

Damian wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans under the table, where Jason wouldn’t see. He had practiced this conversation so many times in his head, but not once had he pictured a positive outcome. Still, he had to try – he’d made a promise to his father. “Before I begin, please note that this isn’t easy for me to ask. I know your feelings on the subject, but given the new circumstances of our relationship, I don’t feel that I have any other choice,” he began awkwardly. 

Jason tensed, his expression clouding with suspicion. “Don’t ‘handle’ me, Damian,” he said tersely. “Just spit it out.”

Damian sighed. “My father is currently away on a business trip. He will return in three days’ time. When he does, I want to inform him of the nature of our relationship. I was-”

“You _what_?” Jason hissed, standing so abruptly that he knocked his chair over. “Have you lost your damn mind?”

Damian shot to his feet. “Will you shut up and listen to me?” he snapped. “My father and I have a mutual agreement regarding my private life, in that he tries to let me have one, and I do my best to be honest with him, at least on the important things,” he explained in what he hoped was a calm and reasonable tone. “However, he’s been getting suspicious since I started coming here. I have to disable my tracking device to avoid setting off every Bat alarm in the tri-state area, which means that I disappear off the grid every time I visit you. So far, he’s respected my privacy, but I’m not sure how much longer that’s going to last. He’s neither as stupid as Drake nor as trusting as Grayson, and he will eventually come looking for me. I owe it to him to tell him the truth before he has to see it on one of Oracle’s surveillance cameras, or worse, one of Drake’s photographs.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “I appreciate you hearing me out. You may speak now.”

“Oh _may I_? How very kind of you,” Jason sneered. 

Damian crossed his arms and fought down the urge to slap him. Jason’s knee-jerk reaction to anything he found uncomfortable was generally to get belligerent – a highly effective tactic that Damian was intimately familiar with because it was one of his favourite avoidance tactics too. That’s why so many of their attempts to talk about personal issues generally ended in fisticuffs. However, this discussion was too important to let it degenerate into a fight, no matter how badly they both wanted to get out of it.

“But what’s the point of talking about it if you’ve already made up your mind?” Jason continued as he paced back and forth like a caged animal. “I mean, I clearly don’t get a say in this, and hey, why should I? He’s not _my_ dad.” Damian winced at the bone deep bitterness in his tone. 

“Do you think _I_ want to have this conversation with him?” Damian asked. “I don’t want to tell him either, but we don’t have a choice.”

“You have a choice. You’ve just made it,” Jason spat. “Go ahead, tell him. You’re the one that’s going to have to find yourself a new boyfriend when my jumpline just happens to snap one day, or I ‘accidentally slip’ off a rooftop!”

“Tt,” Damian snorted. “Your fears are baseless.”

Jason fixed him with a hard look. “They’re not fears, Damian. I mean sure, he's not really going to kill me, because he doesn't do that, but do you honestly think there won’t be any blowback from this?”

“That’s why I have a plan, to mitigate the ‘blowback’ as you call it. But I can’t do it without your cooperation,” Damian said. 

Jason shot him a pained look. “Do I even wanna know?”

Damian swallowed down the fluttering in his stomach. “I want you to come to dinner tomorrow night at the Manor with Grayson and Drake. If we want my father to accept you, we have to get them onside first – especially Grayson, because as much as my father dislikes admitting such things, he trusts Grayson’s opinions.”

“You think _Dick_ is going to plead our case to DaddyBat?” Jason laughed, and the note of hysteria in the sound set Damian’s teeth on edge. The sound of madness was far too familiar for one who grew up in the Al Ghul household, and it dredged up long sequestered emotions in Damian that he really didn’t want to deal with just then.

“Stop that,” Damian snapped irritably. “I’m aware of your ill-fated tryst with Grayson. I realize that it will make it more difficult to convince my father that you’re not just screwing your way through the family, one Robin at a time, but that’s why, as I’ve explained, we need Grayson onside.”

Jason snorted. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s no way you’ll get Dick to agree to this. As a result of our ‘ill-fated tryst’, he thinks I’m a raving lunatic who gets off on violence. And, I’m not saying I’m not, but that doesn’t really help our case. Short of domming me in front of him, I’m not sure he’s going to believe that I’m not out to kill you, or him, or god forbid, his precious Tim.”

Damian licked his lips. “I believe that brings me to my plan.”

Jason’s jaw dropped as Damian’s intent dawned on him. “Oh _hell_ no! First of all, it’s a ridiculous idea, and secondly, it’s not going to work. Dick is never going to believe that I don’t have some secret evil agenda. I don’t care if I let you beat me bloody in front of him; he’ll just think I’m playing along, biding my time until…Jesus, I don’t know, until I enact my diabolical end game, I guess. In their eyes, I’m no different from the fucking Joker! Now imagine if you brought that Looney tune to dinner and introduced him as your new boyfriend. Then you’ll start to see how ridiculous you sound!” 

“You are not the Joker, not in their eyes, and certainly not in mine,” Damian said. He walked around the table in the hopes of reassuring Jason with a touch, or something, but Jason jerked away from him as though Damian were electrified. 

“Not this time, Damian,” Jason growled. “I’m done jumping through hoops for bats, and that includes you.” Then he turned, and leapt out the open window.

Damian could have chased after him, but he let him go. He closed his eyes and sighed. He really could have handled that better.

***

Jason perched on top of a high-rise in downtown Gotham, chain-smoking his…he’d lost count’th cigarette of the day. He’d been smoking so much in the last 24 hours that his lungs felt tender and he was having difficulty catching his breath on long runs. He was still going to smoke this whole damn pack though. He growled as he caught sight of the collar around his wrist peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his leather jacket. He pulled his sleeve down to hide it again, his stomach churning.

This morning, he’d dreamt that dream again, the one he’d been having since he rose screaming from the pit. It’s late at night, and he sneaks into Wayne Manor through an open window. He steals down the darkened corridors until he finds Bruce’s bedroom, and slips inside without making a sound. He finds Bruce in his bed, sound asleep. Bruce awakens when he approaches. At first, Bruce is angry, Jason can tell from the fierce glint in his cold blue eyes. But then his expression softens. He takes Jason’s hand and guides him to the bed. _I’m sorry, Bruce,_ he always says. _It’s ok, son, I love you,_ Bruce murmurs back. Then Bruce hugs him, and that’s when the dream usually goes bad. The next thing he knows, Bruce has his hands wrapped around his throat, and he’s choking him. _You disappoint me, Jason,_ Bruce says, his voice hard and implacable as he crushes the life from him. _You’re a mistake, and mistakes should be erased._ That’s generally when Jason wakes, heart hammering in his chest as he claws at the phantom fingers around his throat. 

The dreams had stopped for a while back when he was dating Dick, but when Dick had dumped him, the dreams had returned, en force. After that, Bruce’s face would sometimes change into Dick’s, and Dick would say things like, _what’s wrong with you_ and _you disgust me_ as his lips twisted in a sneer of revulsion. Last night, for the first time, Bruce’s face had transformed into Damian’s, and Damian hadn’t said a thing, just choked him tighter and tighter with that demonic smirk on his face. 

Suddenly, Jason retched over the side of the building. He hadn’t eaten all day, and he’d thrown up the last of that bottle of vodka about an hour ago, so his body’s only recourse now was to dry heave bright yellow bile and spit over the side of the building. When he’d managed to suppress the agonizing spasms racking his body, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and lit another cigarette with shaking hands. 

What the fuck was he doing dating Bruce Wayne’s son? Damian even kind of looked like Bruce, in the right light. Jesus Christ, Dick was right, what was wrong with him? He was such a fucking masochist, not just in a kinky way, but in a self-destructive, make every conceivable bad decision known to man kind of way. They say that insanity is when you do the same thing over and over again expecting different results. By that definition, he was stark raving mad. When was he going to realize that when you played with bats, you got rabies every single time?

When he’d started up with Dick, he’d been younger then, confused and angry and desperate to reclaim that sense of belonging and purpose that he’d once had. He’d always harboured a secret crush on Dick anyway, ever since his Robin days when he’d done anything he could to emulate him. Surprisingly, Dick had responded to his advances. Maybe not so surprising, in retrospect, considering Dick’s obsession with saving people, but Jason hadn’t wanted to be saved – he’d wanted to be loved, not for the person he could’ve been, but for the person he actually was. He just hadn’t appreciated that distinction at the time. In fact, he hadn’t realized how hard he’d fallen for his once-idol until he’d hit the proverbial pavement, and the fall fucking broke everything that was left inside him to break. Dick had discarded him like yesterday’s trash when he’d made a mistake and failed to live up to his expectations…an M.O. that was so fucking Bruce Wayne that it sickened him that he hadn’t seen it coming a mile off. 

He growled low in the back of his throat. And now he was in over his head with Damian, so deep that he could no longer tell which way was up. When he’d started trolling Robin on his solo runs, it had been a game, a joke. How far could he push the baby bat before daddy got angry? But then…fuck, that kid was an evil genius in the sack, and he did and said things that soothed Jason’s soul in ways he hadn’t even realized he needed. This though, this was just typical. He let his guard down for one second and the first thing the little batbrat did was shiv him right in the open, bleeding wounds in his heart named Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson.

“Come perform for my family like a trained seal, Jason,” he sneered in his best impression of Damian’s uptight, weird little non-American English accent. “Let me humiliate you in front of Golden Boy and the Replacement for our amusement. What’s that, you don’t like my idea? But I’m Damian Wayne, master of the fucking universe, and I own your ass, so do as I say, bitch!”

“I sound nothing like that.”

Jason whirled so violently that he lost his balance, flailing over the 14-story drop. The next thing he knew, a length of bat rope wrapped around his arm and jerked him down off the ledge. He stumbled and fell hard onto his hands and knees, where he promptly threw up again.

“Good god, ‘Hood, how did you even get yourself up here in that condition?” Robin asked in that clipped, superior tone of his that Jason imagined was what Nazis would have sounded like if they’d spoken English.

Jason wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and staggered to his feet. “It’s a building, _Robin_ , it has stairs,” he said with a gesture at the fire escape. 

“Tt,” Robin said in disgust. “Let me guess, you’ve been drinking all day.”

“And smoking,” Jason added. “I’d hate for you to miss out on the chance to disapprove of that, too.”

Robin sighed. “Ja-”

“Don’t!” Jason warned. 

Robin fisted his hands on his hips. “Then why don’t we talk somewhere more private?”

“No,” Jason growled. He would need every ounce of Red Hood’s confidence and swagger to get through this conversation. In fact, he wished he had both masks on instead of just the domino, but that had gotten impractical once the puking had started. “Say what you came here to say, Robin.”

“Very well.” Robin swallowed hard. “I…apologise…for my earlier suggestion,” he pronounced stiffly. “Given your history with my family, it was insensitive and anyway it was poorly thought through. If you’ll give me the chance, I will make it up to you.”

“How?” Jason asked, intrigued despite himself. 

Robin gestured impatiently. “I will find a way.”

Jason snorted. “And the bats and birds?”

“That’s non-negotiable. I have to tell them. Whether you come or not is your choice, but I would appreciate your support,” Robin said in such a stilted way that Jason almost felt sorry for him having to deliver this humiliating conciliation speech in costume. “If it’s more acceptable to you, maybe we could change the location to Nightwing’s apartment, and exclude Red Robin.” 

Jason frowned. “So…just D-Nightwing?” 

“Yes.”

“And just dinner, no show?” 

“You have my word,” Robin said solemnly.

Jason rubbed at the collar on his wrist, running his fingers over the leather that despite having only been there a couple days, had moulded so completely to his skin that it seemed like it had always been there. 

He sighed. “Dinner at Nightwing’s,” he conceded. 

Robin smirked at him. “Tonight. Seven o’clock!” he said before he took a running leap over the ledge and swung away into the night.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with me?” Jason muttered.

He stayed up there contemplating the question till he’d smoked his last cigarette down to the filter and the first pink rays of dawn streaked across the sky.


	3. Chapter 3

Dick watched his little brother wear bare spots into his carpet as he paced from one end of the room to the other. It was unusual for Damian to display his anxiety so overtly, and it worried him.

“So let me get this straight. You want to have dinner with a friend in _my_ apartment, _tonight_?” he asked with a baffled frown. 

“You will attend as well,” Damian pronounced in his usual imperious fashion.

“Well, that’s convenient, seeing as it’s my apartment,” Dick said, rolling his eyes because how could he not when Damian made statements like that. 

Damian levelled a scathing glare at him. “This is important, Grayson. For once in your life, I need you to be the adult that you actually are instead of the childish buffoon that you insist on acting like.”

“You do realize that you’re asking me for a favour? I mean, this fact isn’t actually lost on you, is it?” Dick asked in exasperation. 

Damian twitched almost imperceptibly. “I’m…sorry,” he gritted after a moment. “I would appreciate your help, Grayson.”

It was possibly the sorriest apology Dick had ever gotten, but he supposed he should appreciate the gesture. Up until a few years ago, Damian almost never apologized for anything. It was only in the last couple years that he’d started to express remorse for some of his more appalling behaviour, although he generally doled his apologies out in as miserly a fashion as possible.

Dick sighed. “All right, all right, you can have it here. So who’s this friend that’s coming to dinner, and why didn’t you invite them to the manor? If you wanted to impress a girl, surely a nice meal cooked by Alfred would have been far more romantic than a grilled cheese burned by me.”

Damian looked down, his face flushing a bright pink. “You must promise not to be angry.”

Dick studied his ex-protégé with a critical eye. There had been only a handful of times that he’d seen Damian this apprehensive about something, and it had usually preceded serious, life-altering events – such as the time Bruce returned from the dead. Whatever Damian was hiding, it was big, and from the sour look on the teenager’s face, Dick wasn’t going to like it. He shook his head. “No can do, Little D.”

Damian glared at him. “Come on, Grayson!”

“No,” Dick said firmly. “You don’t get to dictate how I react. Now spill – who’s this mystery dinner guest?”

“It’s…Jason,” Damian muttered.

“Jason?” Dick said with a confused shake of his head. 

“Jason Todd,” Damian repeated irritably.

“Jason To- _Jason_?” Dick exploded as the name finally connected in his brain. “You invited _Red Hood_ to my apartment?!”

“Stop overreacting,” Damian snapped. “He was a friend, once, and it’s not as though he’s never been here before.”

“Yeah, ‘was’ being the operative word!” Dick said with an exasperated wave of his hand. “That’s like saying, hey Bruce, I invited Two-Face to dinner at your house. You guys used to be pals, and Harvey’s been to the manor before, so it shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“Your comparison is inaccurate.” Damian sniffed indignantly. “Jason is not Two-Face.”

Dick gave him a hard look. “No, but he _is_ a criminal as defined by the law.”

Damian fisted his hands on his hips, his lips skinning back from his teeth in a sneer. “That didn’t stop _you_ from knowing him in the Biblical sense, now did it?” 

Dick was genuinely taken aback by the accusation. It just didn’t make any sense why Damian would dredge up such ancient history unless… “Wait, are you saying you’re sleeping with Jason?” Dick blurted. The pieces fell into place with a resounding CLICK and the picture they formed was not a pretty one. “Is that where you go at night, after patrol, when you turn off your tracker?”

“Yes,” Damian said with a smug little smirk. Jesus, he looked so damn proud of himself.

Dick could only gape at him in shock. “I…I don’t understand,” he said finally. “Why would you do this? I thought you were smarter than this.”

“Smarter than you?” Damian countered.

“Well, yeah,” Dick admitted. “Jason and I have a lot of history, and I guess it made me think that I could change him. Or rather, I thought that he would want to change, to be a better person, for me. I was young, and naïve, and I was dead wrong. You can’t change people, Damian. The motivation has to come from them, and Jason isn’t interested in changing who he is, not for me, not for you, not for anyone.”

“I’m not interested in changing him,” Damian said. “I like him the way he is.”

Dick shot him a pained look. “I find that very hard to believe, Damian. I don’t know what he’s been telling you, but I don’t think you have any idea who Jason really is. Take it from someone who’s known him a long time - he’s a manipulative, lying, homicidal sociopath. He’ll tell you whatever you want to hear to your face, but the second he’s out of your sight, all bets are off.”

“Jason would never lie to me,” Damian said fiercely.

“Why, because you’re fucking him?” Dick snapped, more harshly than he’d intended but his ire was up now and there was no holding back the bitterness pouring from the festering place in his heart that Jason Todd used to inhabit. “If you think that’s going to buy you his loyalty, think again, because it certainly didn’t stop him from lying to me!”

The surprise written on Damian’s face was all the information Dick needed to confirm his suspicions.

“He didn’t tell you, did he? Why am I not surprised?” Dick said with a derisive snort. He shook his head as the memories swept through him, a maelstrom of anger, hurt and betrayal. “There was a man, suspected of raping and killing his daughter. Forensics were inconclusive, and in the end they had to let him go. Jason and I argued about this man’s innocence for days, and in the end Jason promised me he would leave it alone until we could investigate further. But the second I returned to Bludhaven, he went down there and executed the guy. In the end, Batman uncovered evidence that he was innocent – it was someone else all along. I think about that sometimes, about what that man must have gone through, what he must have said to Jason in his final moments, how he must have begged for his life, not that it made a lick of difference to that psychopath!”

Damian looked visibly disturbed. “He made a mistake, Grayson. People make mistakes.”

“Murder is not a mistake!” Dick snapped. 

Damian swallowed hard, though his expression remained carefully neutral. “It’s a mistake _I’ve_ made,” he said quietly in a tone so intense it cut through Dick’s anger like a laser beam. 

Dick winced. His anger dissolved as rapidly as it had manifested, leaving a trail of guilt in its wake. He placed a hand awkwardly on Damian’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean-”

“I know exactly what you meant,” Damian interrupted, shrugging Dick’s hand off his shoulder. 

Dick sighed. “Look, his politics aside, Jason’s one of the most dangerous people in Gotham. He’s smart, well trained, and completely sociopathic. Over the years, he’s stalked me - to my house, to my job, to Titans Tower. He’s attacked me, he’s tried to kill me, he’s attacked Tim, my friends, and even you!” 

“I don’t need a recap, I was there,” Damian gritted. “I won’t make apologies or excuses for his past behaviour, but if I can forgive him, why can’t you?”

Dick threw his hands up in frustration. “Because he’s never once shown any remorse for the lives he’s destroyed! I just…I can’t see how this is going to end well for you. Believe me, I’ve been down that road, and it’s taken a long time and a heck of a lot of heartbreak for me to accept that Jason Todd is a lost cause.”

Damian’s jaw clenched as a stubborn scowl scrunched his sharp features together in a rather unattractive way. “I love him, Dick,” he said flatly.

Dick’s heart sank. “Oh Damian, you don’t love him,” he said with a pitying look. “At most, this is a crush, or some kind of rebellious phase.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” Damian said, his tone edged with a warning.

Dick held his hands up in a placatory gesture. “Look, I get the attraction. We used to have a joke in the Titans about how you’re not a real superhero unless you’ve had a torrid affair with a supervillian. Everyone goes through that phase. It’s just that most people don’t pick someone as dangerous or as psychotic as the Red Hood.”

“You did,” Damian pointed out. “And don’t try to tell me it was just a phase. I know you loved him, or you wouldn’t have tried so hard or given him so many chances. Why is it so hard for you to trust that I know what I’m doing? Whatever your feelings are about Jason, I’ve earned that trust, Grayson.”

Dick raked a hand through his hair. It had taken him so long to get Damian to the point where he could actually experience emotions like love and joy without suspicion and constantly second-guessing both his own and everyone else’s motives. Now Jason was going to destroy years of hard work in a single stroke. “Of course I trust you, Damian,” he said sadly. “I’d just hoped to save you from the heartbreak.”

Damian tensed, his whole body going rigid. “I don’t need you to save me,” he said in a low growl. “You may not agree with my choices, but they’re my choices to make.”

Dick wanted to kick himself for the poor choice of wording. If there was one thing Damian Wayne, exile and enemy of the Al Ghul household, didn’t need, it was someone dictating to him what was best for him. He’d had enough of that from his mother – he didn’t need it from Dick, too. Dick suppressed a sigh. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll give him one last chance, for you. But if I even see a hint that he’s using you to get back at the family, I’ll tell Bruce myself, and then god help him.”

***

Damian stalked through the streets of Bludhaven, his hands balled into fists inside the pockets of his black trench coat. His mind was whirling after his confrontation with Grayson, and though he’d ultimately gotten his way, he was still deeply unsettled by the encounter. For one thing, he’d been quite taken aback by Grayson’s hostility towards Jason. Not that he’d expected warm feelings - he’d known that they’d had an affair and a messy breakup. But that had been nearly a decade ago, and their run-ins with Red Hood in the last few years had been fairly mundane, giving no indication of any on-going personal issues. He hadn’t expected to still see this level of anger and resentment from Grayson, who tended to forgive easily. Then again, Todd’s extreme reaction last night had shocked him as well. He’d never seen Jason in such a state, and for him to insist that they have that highly intimate conversation as Red Hood and Robin had been worrying. 

Damian pushed back the useless wave of confusing emotions threatening to overwhelm him and tried to focus on the facts, to analyse the last 24 hours with as much clarity as possible to see a path through this tangled web of past and present conflicts. When he was younger, navigating the murky grey area that was human relationships had been monumentally difficult for him. Over the years, he’d learned to compensate for his weaknesses by bringing his strengths to bear on the situation. He was an excellent detective, and even if he didn’t have the emotional tools to talk this through with Grayson and Todd, he felt sure he could probably deduce the relevant information by analysing their behaviour and forge a way forward by devising an appropriate plan of action. 

One thing was certain - he would not waver from his path. There was nothing either Grayson or his father could say that would change his opinion of Jason, because he already saw him for exactly who he was, flaws and all. Perhaps more importantly, Jason saw _him_ clearly. Even in the depths of Damian’s foulest moods and most sadistic impulses, Jason never flinched from him, never turned away in disgust or fear. He’d seen that look of shock and unease in the rest of his family’s eyes once too often, particularly in the early days when he’d lost control more frequently. These days he was better at keeping his darker impulses at bay, but he knew, deep down, that they all thought he was a monster. Grayson’s comments tonight had confirmed it. For all of Jason’s faults, and Damian could admit there were many, Jason loved him for who and what he was, and he wasn’t about to give that up without a fight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's dedicated to [Mikimoo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikimoo), whose comment after the first chapter was "needz moar dick". ;)

Dick stared at the TV without taking in any of the news stories that were flashing across the screen. He was mostly watching Damian out of the corner of his eye. His little brother was crouching on an armchair in the corner like a gargoyle. 

“Why don’t you sit down?” Dick suggested.

“He’s late,” Damian growled.

“He’s Jason,” Dick said by way of explanation.

“What if he doesn’t come?” Damian asked suddenly.

Dick frowned. He hadn’t even considered what it would mean to Damian if Jason stood him up, an incident that had a high probability of occurring, knowing Jason. “Then you shouldn’t take it personally,” he said, thinking that a little pre-emptive damage control couldn’t hurt. “He’s pretty unreliable, even at the best of times.”

“But we agreed,” Damian said, sounding for once very much like the vulnerable teenager that everyone forgot that he actually was beneath all the posturing.

Dick’s anger at Jason burned just that bit brighter as he caught Damian casting an anxious glance towards the front door. He wished there was something he could do for his brother. He would have liked to give him a hug, but he knew how Damian felt about “effusive displays”, as he called them. The last thing he wanted to do was aggravate Damian further by pushing himself on him. He remembered that Jason, too, was fairly undemonstrative in that department, although unlike Damian, he at least appreciated physical contact, so long as he wasn’t initiating it. He wondered how the two of them managed to even casually touch each other, let alone have sex. For Jason, sex was like a full contact sport, and Dick recalled vividly how intense their sex used to be. How on earth did that work with Damian’s pathological fussiness?

Suddenly, it hit him like a ten tonne truck. His little brother and his psycho ex-boyfriend were having _sex_! He’d spent most of the day tied up in knots worrying about Damian; he hadn’t even considered how weird this was going to be for him. It wasn’t just any ex, either, it was _Jason_. Damian had been right. As much as Dick had denied it, he’d loved Jason more than he should have, and a damn sight more than that asshole had deserved. Even earlier, with the diatribe tripping from his tongue, a very small part of him had still clung to the hope that Jason had changed, had mended his ways and returned to the family. Though wrapped up in that hope so bright it hurt to examine too closely was the bitter knowledge that even if it was happening now, it hadn’t happened back then. No matter how much Dick had loved Jason, it hadn’t been enough.

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. 

Damian was just a blur of motion as he frog-leapt off the armchair and vaulted towards the door. He flung it open a fraction of a second later. “You’re late!” he snarled in Jason’s face.

Jason’s momentary bewilderment would have been comical, if Dick had been in a laughing mood. Unfortunately, he was too busy having his guts turned inside out. It had been years since he’d actually seen Jason, not Red Hood but _Jason_. The sheer charisma of him – it was like all the air had been sucked from the room and Dick found himself fighting to breathe.

“I couldn’t find anything to wear,” Jason retorted. He pushed past Damian into the apartment, though he stopped when he saw Dick standing by the television. 

Their eyes locked, and Dick felt like he’d been sucker punched in the solar plexus. For a moment, neither of them said anything, just drank in the sight of one another like they were both dying of thirst.

“What are you talking about, you’re wearing jeans and a t-shirt!” Damian complained, breaking the spell.

“You look like crap, Jaybird,” Dick said without breaking eye contact with Jason. “What’d you do, sleep in a gutter last night?” He wasn’t exaggerating, either. Despite the shower and shave that he’d clearly undergone, Jason’s eyes were bloodshot and he looked like he was suffering from a killer hangover. 

“Near enough,” Jason said with a shrug. He eyed Dick up and down appreciatively. “You look good though, as always. Nice to know that some things never change.” 

Dick felt his face heat, and he was the first to look away. Damn Jason. He hated how he could always get under his skin. He’d spent so long burying those feelings, and Jason had just dug them all back up with a simple look. Only now, now Jason was his brother’s boyfriend, and he shouldn’t be thinking that way about him. He shot Damian an apprehensive glance, and found his brother staring at him with a calculating look. Dick hurried into the kitchen to avoid looking at either of them, and tried to remind himself how angry he was with Jason.

“I ordered pizza, with everything. It should be here soon. Want a beer?” Dick called from the kitchen.

“Sure,” Jason answered.

Dick returned to the living room a moment later with a beer for Jason and sodas for himself and Damian. An awkward silence descended over the three of them as Dick and Jason sipped their drinks and Damian glanced back and forth from one to the other with palpable expectation.

“Why don’t we sit down?” Dick suggested.

Damian was the first to fling himself into the armchair in the corner. “Sit there,” he barked at Jason, pointing at the left side of the couch. “Grayson, you sit there.” He gestured at the other side of the couch.

“Oh goodie, assigned seating,” Dick muttered.

Jason didn’t say a word; he just sat where he was told. Dick found his tolerance of Damian’s bossiness somewhat unnerving. The Jason he knew would not have calmly endured having orders barked at him by a teenaged tyrant, let alone actually complied with said orders.

Everyone continued to say absolutely nothing. The silence was so complete that Dick could actually hear his own heart beating in his ears. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, the hairs on his arms standing on end when Jason’s leg brushed his accidentally. It was disconcerting being this close to him again after so many years and so much emotional trauma. Granted, he had run-ins with Red Hood periodically, but it wasn’t the same. Their encounters were never this…intimate, for lack of a better word. After all, the last time Jason was in this apartment, they weren’t just sitting side by side on the couch. As he recalled, they were doing something decidedly R-rated, in the very spot in which he was sitting. The thought made Dick’s ears burn.

“Thinking about the last time we were on this couch, aren’t you?” Jason said in a low voice.

Dick’s face turned bright red. “You’re a jackass.”

Jason chuckled. “Yes I am.”

“What are you talking about?” Damian demanded.

“I’ll tell you later,” Jason assured him.

“You will not!” Dick gasped. 

“Yes you will,” Damian insisted.

Jason winked at Damian. “You know he’s not a child, right, Dickie? I mean, you know we don’t just hold hands and exchange longing looks over milkshakes and French fries.”

Dick frowned. “Yeah, Jay, I get that. While we’re on the subject of you screwing my little brother, maybe you want to tell me what the hell you think you’re doing screwing my little brother.”

Jason’s expression cooled as something hard and angry flashed in his eyes. “This isn’t about you, and it’s sure as hell not about Bruce.”

“No, apparently it’s about screwing an eighteen year old kid,” Dick snapped.

“I’m not a kid!” Damian protested, though they both ignored him.

“I hate to break it to you, but the age difference between him and me isn’t that far off from the difference between you and me,” Jason countered. “Now, I can admit that there was a lot of shit wrong with our relationship, but age wasn’t one of ‘em.”

Dick had forgotten how good Jason was at arguing. Honestly, it should be listed as one of his top talents, along with killing people, coming back from the dead, and turning Dick inside out. To be fair though, he had genuinely forgotten how much younger Jason was than him. Even back when they were together, with Jason’s height and build, everyone had always assumed Dick was the younger of the two.

“Ok, you have a point,” Dick conceded, “but why him? You could have anyone, man or woman, in the city. If this isn’t about Bruce, then why Bruce’s son?”

Jason shrugged. “Right place, right time.”

“You don’t think that it’s all just a little bit too convenient?” Dick persisted.

“What part of this do you think is convenient for me?” Jason snapped. “Do you think I like coming here and facing the inquisition? Do you think it’s easy for me to sit here and suffer your condescending, sanctimonious bullshit with a smile when all I want to do is kick your teeth in? I’ll tell you what this is very much not, Dick, and that’s _convenient_!”

Dick stood up, suddenly too angry to sit still any longer. “I’m sanctimonious? That’s rich coming from the man who’s dubbed himself judge, jury, and executioner of Gotham, regardless of what the evidence might prove!”

Jason surged to his feet, his hands balled into fists at his side. “Just couldn’t wait to bring that up, could you? God, Dickie, it happened years ago, why can’t you just let it go?”

“Let it go? Jason, you murdered an innocent man in cold blood! I’m _never_ going to let that go!”

“Innocent?” Jason roared. “He might not have killed his daughter, but that scumbag was far from innocent and you know it!”

“That’s it, that’s your excuse?” Dick shouted, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. “You know what your problem is, Jason?” 

“Oh please, I’m dying to hear this!”

“You’re weak!” Dick spat. “You hate yourself and what you’ve become as much as the rest of us do, but you’re too much of a coward to own up to the mistakes you’ve made. So you make these pathetic excuses for yourself, and you run around Gotham preaching your so-called philosophy, but the truth is that deep down, you know you’re nothing but a two-bit criminal with low self-esteem!”

Jason stared at Dick in stunned silence for a moment before he said, “Wow. Thank you for that, Dickie. You’ve opened my eyes.” He held out his wrists with a sneer. “Here, throw me in Arkham, I repent!”

Dick snorted. “You disgust me.”

Jason’s face contorted in rage, and the next thing Dick new, he was flat on his back, fighting for his life. Jason’s fists flew at his face with enough force that Dick knew he wasn’t messing around. Dick managed to dodge the flurry of blows, though just barely. He was faster than Jason, but in close quarters like this, with Jason’s body weight pinning him to the ground, that speed was next to useless. He knew he had to move if he wanted to gain the upper hand. He maneuvered his leg up between their bodies and rocking upwards with his hips, he flipped Jason over his head. Jason rolled with the momentum, but Dick was on top of him before he could regroup. They grappled with each other in a faster, more violent version of the wrestling exercises they’d trained with as Robin, only this time it wasn’t training and neither of them were pulling their punches. Finally though, after several more minutes of desperate struggling, with neither of them scoring a hit, they managed to lock themselves into a stalemate. Dick had his forearm pressed to Jason’s throat, and one of Jason’s hands in a vicious wristlock. Jason had his one free hand wrapped round Dick’s throat, and he looked ready to squeeze if Dick so much as twitched a hair.

“Kiss!” Damian demanded, breaking the tense silence.

Both of them craned their heads around to gape at him. Dick was appalled to see Damian casually rubbing himself off through his jeans as he watched them with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“ _What_?” Dick exclaimed as Jason said, “Seriously, you’re getting off on this?” 

“Yes,” Damian said simply. “Now kiss. I know you want to. I may not be quite so adept at reading social cues, but I know lust when I see it.”

Jason scowled at Damian for a long, tense moment. Something indefinable seemed to pass between them, a frisson of electricity that Dick perceived on some innate level. Then the moment passed, and suddenly Jason’s kiss seared him like a brand, his lips and tongue demanding entrance. Too shocked to push him away, Dick let Jason sweep into his mouth like he owned the place, licking him from the inside out in a way that set all his nerves firing till his body tingled with pins and needles. All at once Dick was swept back to a time when his entire world had consisted of flying and fighting and fucking like animals in Jason’s squalid safe house of the month as dawn broke over Gotham city. 

Jason buried his fingers in Dick’s hair and used the leverage to pull him in closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of him though only moments ago he’d been bona fide trying to kill him.

“Yes,” Damian breathed. “His neck, kiss his neck.”

On cue, Jason’s mouth began searching over Dick’s neck, licking and sucking at the pulse point just below his jaw, and nibbling the corner of Dick’s earlobe just the way he liked it. Dick shivered as Jason’s tongue lapped over the particularly sensitive spot just behind his ear. God, this just wasn’t fair in the slightest!

“W-wait, stop, we can’t…” Dick stuttered as Jason’s hands roved over his back possessively in a way that Dick’s body was entirely too familiar with. He was fighting against every instinct, and he was losing, badly.

“You can,” Damian assured him calmly.

Jason’s hand travelled down Dick’s back to squeeze his ass, and Dick reflexively bucked his hips, grinding their growing erections together. His breath hitched in his throat as he felt Jason moan softly into the side of his neck. It had been so long, too long. Whatever had been wrong with their relationship – and there had been so many things – sex had never been one of them. As much as he hated to admit it, he’d missed this, the perfect fit of their bodies, the way Jason could always match and mirror him till they moved in seamless sync.

“I mean we shouldn’t,” Dick panted as he struggled to cling to whatever shreds of reason remained in his lust-addled brain. He was breathing hard, his blood pumping with a potent mix of adrenaline and lust. It was like fighting and fucking at the same time, and it felt good - better than good. Jason was looking up at him like…like he used to, with that desperate, insatiable need that had once sucked Dick in whole, because he liked being needed and Jason had needed him like a man needed air. 

“Who cares?” Jason growled in his ear. “Damian’s right. We both want this. Just admit it, Dickie.”

Dick knew he’d lost the battle, had known it since the moment Jason’s lips had claimed his. “Jay…” he breathed, forcing all the emotions he couldn’t express in words into that one syllable. Love and loss, betrayal, anger, disappointment, and regret…so much damned regret for all the things they’d said and done to each other over the years, and all the things they hadn’t.

He reached down and gently traced Jason’s lip with his thumb. Jason’s tongue flicked out to lick his finger, and Dick bit back a moan. He was achingly hard, and when he shifted slightly, he could feel Jason’s arousal hot and hard against his thigh. He pushed his thumb into Jason’s mouth and ground against him as Jason sucked and nibbled on his finger. 

“Take his clothes off,” Damian said from behind Dick.

Dick glanced back over his shoulder to find Damian looming over him. It was strange, he thought, how Damian’s normal, day to day awkwardness in social situations had melted away, leaving him every inch a confident and commanding man, so very much like…Batman, he realised suddenly as he bit back a gasp. The comparison was so wrong and yet so apt, and once seen, it could not be unseen. For the first time, he truly saw Damian not as his little brother or his ex-sidekick, but as an adult, and a man – a not unattractive man.

Damian carded his fingers through Dick’s hair, blunt fingernails scraping against his scalp, and he arched instinctively into the touch. Damian was touching him, voluntarily, and it was bizarre, but it felt so good that he didn’t want it to stop. Jason reached for Dick’s t-shirt, sliding the soft cotton up to run his hands over Dick’s chest. Dick impatiently pulled the shirt up over his head and flung it away from him. Jason’s eyes darkened as they caught sight of Dick’s bare chest. His hands roved over Dick’s skin with an almost reverent longing, as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch, and wasn’t sure he’d ever be allowed again. Dick closed his eyes and shivered as Jason’s palms grazed his nipples whilst Damian pressed against his back, searing his neck with scorching, open-mouthed kisses. Calloused fingers lightly traced his scars, as though Jason was cataloguing all the new ones since the last time they’d done this. The fingers paused over a bullet wound in Dick’s shoulder, where the scar was so fresh that it was still pink and shiny. Dick opened his eyes and looked down to find Jason frowning up at him, anger simmering in his eyes.

Dick laid his hand over Jason’s and pressed his hand over the scar. “’m fine,” he murmured. 

With his other hand, Jason reached up to cup Dick’s cheek briefly. Then he moved his hands down and started unbuckling Dick’s belt. Dick stilled his hands and unbuckled the belt himself, removing several wingdings, a couple of adhesive grenades, and a small flash grenade from secret compartments sewn into the waistband of his jeans.

Jason raised an eyebrow at him.

“Tt,” Damian complained over his shoulder.

“What? Red Hood was coming to dinner!” Dick said defensively.

Jason huffed out a laugh. He reached into his own pocket and withdrew a serpentine blade that had clearly been strapped to his leg and accessed through a hole in his pocket. He threw it onto the pile of Nightwing paraphernalia.

“I distinctly told you no weapons!” Damian growled in Dick’s ear, though the admonishment was directed at Jason.

“I only brought one,” Jason argued. “He brought a whole arsenal!” he said, gesturing at Dick.

“His guilt doesn’t mitigate yours,” Damian said. “You’ll be punished for this. Up!” He stood up and snapped his fingers at Jason like Dick had seen him do to Titus on a number of occasions. 

Dick’s mouth fell open at the sheer audacity of it even as he held his breath in anticipation of Jason’s reaction. To his utter astonishment, Jason sat up, complying with nothing more than a mulish look and a grunt of annoyance. Once Dick realised that Jason wasn’t going to react at all, he couldn’t resist the urge to capture his mouth in a long, lingering kiss, his hands threading through Jason’s thick hair. When Dick pulled away, Jason made a low, growling noise that shot straight to Dick’s cock. 

“Tt, let him up,” Damian said impatiently, giving Dick’s shoulder a meaningful tap.

Dick snorted, feeling slightly put out by the demand, not to mention the amusement glinting in Jason’s eyes. 

“I don’t know what you’re so smug about, you’re the one that’s going to be punished,” Dick groused as he got to his feet. 

Jason’s only response was a positively shit-eating grin. 

Dick busied himself with stripping off his pants and the underwear beneath as Jason repositioned himself into a kneeling position, his weight resting back on his heels. He licked his lips at Dick’s twitching erection, now conveniently at eye level. 

“Now, how should we punish him?” Damian asked Dick with a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Jason threw Damian a startled look and Dick felt a grin of his own sliding over his face. He’d never seen Jason look so flustered, but in truth, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so far outside his own comfort zone, either. There was a charge in the air, an electricity they all felt like crackles on their skin, and yeah, there was no disputing how into it they all were, but it was scary, too, like a roller coaster without brakes that could careen off the tracks at the next unexpected turn.

“I think…ah…” Dick said, eyeing his cock meaningfully. 

Damian snorted. “That’s really not much of a punishment considering how badly he wants it, but, I suppose if that’s what you want,” he said with a dismissive wave.

Dick gazed down into Jason’s feverishly bright eyes and it struck him that Damian was right - Jason really did want this, badly, and so, he realised, did he. Jason flicked one last look at Damian before he eagerly took Dick in his mouth. Dick threw his head back and gasped loudly, burying his fingers in Jason’s sweat-damp hair. He’d almost forgotten how talented Jason was with his mouth. Jason always knew just the right amount of friction and suction to apply, the right amount of slick and hot and oh so good. Jason’s tongue licked up the underside of his cock and darted lightly into his sensitive slit and Dick gave a hoarse shout, his fingers clenching spasmodically against Jason’s scalp. Then Jason swallowed him all the way down, and Dick felt his knees go weak. “Oh, god,” he gasped.

Suddenly, Damian was behind him, holding him up, and Dick sagged against him gratefully. It wasn’t long though before Damian was assaulting his neck and ears, ravaging him with tongue and lips and almost too-sharp teeth. Damian’s rough hands roved over him, once in awhile tweaking a sensitive nipple. Dick moaned loudly as he writhed between them, his brain short-circuiting under the pressure to push simultaneously backwards and forwards into the hot wet perfect nnnngggh. They were everywhere, caressing and licking and sucking every inch of his skin, driving him mad with their teasing hands and torturous mouths.

“Oh god, Jay!“ Dick cried and he was so close, almost the-

“Stop!” Damian commanded. 

Jason was gone the next instant, leaving Dick literally twitching on the razor edge of orgasm.

“Damian!” Dick practically sobbed. He wanted Jason’s mouth back so badly that he would’ve _begged_ for it if he’d thought of it.

“Shh,” Damian soothed. “You’ll like this much better, I promise,” he whispered in Dick’s ear, his voice gruffer than usual, even for him. He turned Dick’s head and gave him a ravenous kiss, and then he let go. Without Damian to hold him up, Dick just sort of slid down to his knees in slow motion. 

“Strip,” Damian directed.

Jason reached behind himself with one hand and pulled his t-shirt over his head as he unbuttoned and yanked down his jeans with the other. Impressively, he managed to get naked in about two seconds flat. Jason’s eyes tracked Damian as he circled around them, and Dick marvelled at Damian’s control over him…and himself, he realised with a start. When the hell did that happen? 

Damian made some sort of turning gesture with his hand, and Jason obediently turned over onto his hands and knees.

Dick gasped as his attention went straight to the red weals crisscrossing Jason’s back, butt, and all the way down the backs of his thighs. “Oh god, Jason, what happened to you?” He hurried over to take stock of the damage. 

Damian crouched down next to Dick and ran a finger lightly over one of the marks. “I can show you sometime, if you like,” he said.

Jason shivered violently at the touch as he choked out a small, needy noise.

Dick’s mouth fell open in horror. “What? Dami, no…how could you?” 

Damian shrugged. “He likes it. Besides, I’m careful. See here?” he said, tracing one of the more serious welts, dark red with bluish-purple bruising along the edges. “I didn’t even break the skin.”

Jason shuddered. “Oh Jesus, please stop,” he gritted through clenched teeth. 

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Damian said coldly. He deliberately dragged a sharp nail over the deepest welt, along its entire length. 

Dick sucked in a sharp breath.

“Fuck, Damian!” Jason swore, his shoulders straining, every muscle in his back contracting as he writhed in what seemed to Dick like an agony of pleasure.

Dick swallowed hard, because as much as this disturbed him, he’d never seen Jason like this, guard down, wide open and coming apart at the seams, and it was so hot that he thought his brain might be melting.

“See? Told you he likes it.” Damian smirked at Dick. “He’s a little mouthy tonight though. I was going to let you fuck him, but now, I’m not so sure he deserves it. Do you think he deserves it?”

Dick stared at Damian as his melty brain fumbled to put words together. Besides, he didn’t hear anything after ‘let you fuck him’. “Uh, what?” he said intelligently.

Damian rolled his eyes in exasperation. “What about you, do you think you deserve it?” he asked Jason instead. He continued to trail his fingers over Jason’s back, once in awhile poking at a particularly swollen bit of flesh.

“Shit, I don’t know,” Jason groaned, writhing in place in a fruitless attempt to avoid Damian’s wicked little fingers. “I…I came, I’m here…for you. Please, ah, Damian!” 

Damian’s hand froze, and Dick’s breath caught in his throat. He’d been so wrapped up in worrying about how he was going to handle this situation that it hadn’t even occurred to him what it must have taken for Damian to get Jason here tonight, or what it must have cost Jason’s pride to come here, hat in hand, and prove himself to Dick of all people. That explained the bloodshot eyes and the hangover – Jason drinking himself into oblivion just to scrape up the courage to face him tonight. Dick felt a sharp pang of guilt stab its way through his gut. He really shouldn’t have called him a coward. 

Dick and Damian exchanged a look. Then Damian yanked Jason’s head up by his hair and kissed him for the first time that night. Dick had never watched Damian kiss anybody, and it was…not like in the movies. It was all grabby hands and open mouth and sharp teeth, sort of like watching a snake swallow a rat twice its size, but Jason didn’t seem to mind much, and having been on the receiving end himself, Dick couldn’t really blame him. In fact, Dick thought he could hear Jason whining in the back of his throat, and the sound sent shivers down his spine.

“Is that a yes?” Dick asked impatiently.

Damian waved a hand at him over Jason’s head.

Dick grinned. He went to the bedroom and returned a moment later with condoms and lubricant. Damian was still trying to suck Jason’s tonsils out through his mouth when Dick slathered some lube onto Jason’s entrance.

Jason flinched hard, and yelped something that Damian mostly swallowed. Dick suddenly remembered that though he had always liked it both ways, this had never really been Jason’s thing. Back when they were together, Jason had had a lot of issues and insecurities surrounding sex, his identity, Bruce, Dick, and everything in between. But then Jason squirmed against his hand, and Dick laughed softly. This was definitely not the Jason Todd he remembered, pre or post-explosion. He obligingly pressed a finger into him and was rewarded with a low, shuddery moan. 

Damian broke off their kiss and stood up, fumbling at his belt with unsteady hands. Jason made a frustrated noise at the loss, but then Dick added more fingers and he moaned again, louder this time. Dick fucked Jason slowly with his fingers, in, then out completely, just to push in all over again. It was that moment of initial penetration past that tight ring of muscle that fascinated him most, the way his fingers would meet resistance, then suddenly slide into that smooth, all-consuming heat. Jason was writhing against his hand, every muscle taut as he swore softly and continuously into the carpet.

Dick glanced up just as Damian kicked his jeans off. He gaped in astonishment. It wasn’t that he’d never seen his brother naked, but it had been some years and puberty had happened since. Damian was…well, big…like Batman, Dick thought, his cheeks burning. Not that he’d ever seen Bruce erect in the times they’d changed in each others’ presence, but speculation about its full size had certainly fuelled many of his adolescent masturbation sessions. He licked his lips. God, he kind of wanted to-

His mouth filled with saliva as Jason wrapped his lips around Damian’s dick. Yeah…that. He stroked himself a couple times and then he couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He eased himself into Jason with a slow but firm thrust. It was a tight fit and he could feel Jason’s muscles clenching hard around him. Dick stilled, worried that he had done that too quickly. He was out of practice - it had been awhile since he’d been with another guy - and he didn’t want to hurt Jason. 

But then Jason moaned around the cock in his mouth, and deliberately thrust back against Dick, impaling himself further on his cock. Dick sucked in a sharp breath. Taking the hint, he started to move, slowly at first but then faster because it felt too good not to, so tight and hot and Jesus, the friction, like a huge hand fisting him tight. Speaking of which, he bent over Jason’s back and seized his neglected cock in his hand. Jason bucked into his hand as a muffled shout escaped him. Dick stroked him in time to his thrusts, grinning in satisfaction at the way Jason alternately thrust into his hand and ground back against him. 

Damian pulled out of Jason’s mouth and collapsed backwards into Dick’s armchair. Dick’s eyes locked onto his as Damian jerked himself with short, rough strokes. 

“Harder,” Damian grunted, his ordinarily crisp voice wrecked with lust.

Dick snapped his hips forward sharply.

“Fuck, thank you,” Jason panted.

Dick laughed breathlessly at the demonic grin that put on Damian’s face.

“Harder, Dick,” Damian said. “He can take it. Can’t you?”

“Ah- yes!” Jason gasped as Dick thrust into him so hard that he fell forward onto his elbows. 

Dick leaned over Jason’s sweat-slick back and pounded into him in earnest. It was unbelievable fucking into that gripping heat, and Jason kept meeting him thrust for thrust as inarticulate grunts and half-broken swears poured from him.

“Fuck, Damian, please…” Jason yelled suddenly. “Can I…please…”

Dick was confused for a half-second until he heard Damian’s reply.

“You can come when Grayson comes,” Damian said impassively. “And Jason, he’d better enjoy it.”

Dick grinned against Jason’s back and deliberately upped the pace, his hand jerking Jason furiously.

“Oh, shit,” Jason choked, his every muscle straining to stave off orgasm. “Jesus, Dick, please…ah, Dick!!”

At the sound of Jason screaming his name, Dick came, his vision whiting out with the intensity of it. Vaguely, he felt Jason shuddering and spasming around him as both of their ragged cries rang through the apartment. 

Shaking, Dick pulled out of Jason and sank to the floor in a boneless heap. Damian joined them a moment later. Dick saw that he had come, but so silently that he hadn’t even noticed. They collapsed into a pile on the rug with Dick sandwiched between their sweaty, sticky bodies. 

Dick sighed as he felt two sets of hands hugging him tightly. “Wonder what happened to the pizza?” he mused.


	5. Chapter 5

Dick woke in the middle of the night to find Damian’s face pressed against his chest, and one leg thrown possessively over his hip. Who would’ve thought that Mr Touch Me and Die would be a cuddly sleeper? He contained a grin, taking the opportunity to just savour the moment. 

They had transferred to the bed soon after they’d all caught their breaths, even though Dick had been hungry (seriously, what happened to his pizza??), and Damian had looked so smug and self-satisfied that he’d probably wanted to run a victory lap around Bludhaven, kicking a few criminals in the face along the way. It hadn’t taken more than a glance at Jason, however, for both of them to realise he was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. Damian had caught Dick’s eye, and Dick had promptly herded them all to bed, where they’d fallen asleep in one another’s arms. 

He rolled over to check on Jason, but his questing hand met cold sheets instead. He opened his eyes and scanned the room. Jason was gone. With a sigh, he slowly disentangled himself from Damian.

“What is it?” Damian asked instantly, though his voice was thick with sleep and it was clear he was only half awake.

“Ssh, go back to sleep,” Dick murmured.

“Mmmrhm…Grays’n…” Damian grumbled as he rolled over and promptly fell back asleep.

Dick eased out of the bedroom on silent feet and went to search the living room. It too turned out to be empty. There was only one final place to check. He swiped his clothes off the living room floor where he’d discarded them earlier, and pulled them on quickly. Then he climbed out the living room window and scaled the drainpipe up to the very top. With a practiced flip, he vaulted up onto the roof. There, on the other side of the concrete rooftop, he spotted the telltale orange glow of a lit cigarette. He wondered how long Jason had been up there. They hadn’t gone to bed that long ago, so he couldn’t have had more than a few hours’ sleep.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Dick said as he took a seat next to Jason on the cold concrete ledge. 

“Liar,” Jason said, though the accusation lacked any heat. “Admit it - you thought I’d legged it.” 

“It crossed my mind,” Dick said, “for a half a second. But that’d be the easy way out, and easy’s just not your style.”

“Hmph,” Jason grunted at the backhanded compliment.

They were silent for a while, each contemplating how to even begin to resolve the issues between them, the old ones and the new. 

Dick decided to treat it like triage and prioritised the fresh, bleeding wounds they’d ripped in each other tonight. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” he said. The way he figured it, it was like digging a bullet out of your thigh – it hurt like hell, but it was better than losing your leg.

“No, you’re not. You meant every word,” Jason said, though he sounded more tired than angry.

Dick sighed. “Doesn’t mean I don’t regret saying it.”

Jason cocked his head at him. “That’s close to the truth, I guess,” he conceded. “I suppose I should apologize for calling you sanctimonious.”

“It’s ok, I kind of am,” Dick said with a soft snort.

“Yeah, a little bit,” Jason agreed readily. “For what it’s worth, that James Wicker thing…I know I fucked up. He didn’t deserve that.”

Dick frowned. He’d been waiting nigh on a decade for that admission, but the satisfaction that he’d been hoping for just failed to materialize. In its place was overwhelming loss, and regret, and the terrible knowledge that it didn’t change a goddamn thing. “You know this doesn’t change anything,” he said finally. “Your politics, the things you’ve done and continue to do…I can’t turn a blind eye. Maybe Damian can, but I’m just not built that way.”

Jason took a drag on his cigarette and exhaled slowly. “Don’t sweat it, Dickie. If I’d thought your magical cock was gonna fix everything between us, I’d’ve let you fuck me years ago.”

Dick laughed despite himself. “Maybe you should’ve anyway. It might not have fixed anything, but it would’ve been fun.”

Jason smirked in the darkness. “Can’t argue with that.”

Dick shifted his position slightly on the ledge so he could look Jason in the eye. “So, this…I don’t even know what to call it…with you and Damian. It was…unexpected,” he said.

“Which part?” Jason arched an eyebrow at him. “The part where he likes to hit people and boss them around, or the part where I’m a giant masochist?”

Dick snorted, the sound so loud it echoed back from a nearby building. “I guess, when you put it like that. But how did you even…?”

Jason shrugged. “Just kinda happened one day. No one was more surprised than me. Like I said, there wasn’t anything convenient about it.”

Dick contemplated Jason’s response as a familiar worry started gnawing at his gut again. “He really loves you, you know. This isn’t a game to him, or some inconvenient affair,” he felt compelled to say.

Jason gazed out over the rooftops of Bludhaven, his face giving away nothing as he went through the motions of lighting another cigarette. “I know,” he said finally.

Dick’s scowl deepened. “Look, I’m willing to stipulate that this isn’t a ploy to get back at the family, but I also need to know that this isn’t just some fling for you. He’s going toe to toe with Bruce tomorrow over this. Do you understand what that means to him, to lay his last remaining relationship with a blood relative on the line, for _you_?” 

Jason growled under his breath, his eyes flashing angrily in the darkness. He yanked up the sleeve of his jacket and took a swing at Dick. 

Dick jerked back reflexively, but a split second later, he realised that Jason hadn’t actually tried to hit him; he’d just stuck his arm in his face. He blinked at the strap of leather buckled around Jason’s wrist, just inches from his nose. He’d noticed it earlier, when they were all naked. It had struck him as incongruous because Jason wasn’t the sort to _accessorize_ , but he hadn’t put much thought into it at the time, having had much more pressing concerns on his mind, like his raging hard on.

“What’s this?” Dick finally asked, when it was clear Jason wasn’t going to volunteer the information. He’d forgotten how annoying talking to Jason was. Damian was another Olympic level non-talker, and he wondered how they managed to talk to each other at all. Then again, he hadn’t been able to imagine them having sex, either, and they’d definitely proved to him it was possible. Not only possible, but enough to fuel Dick’s masturbation sessions for at least the next few months.

“It’s a collar,” Jason said tersely, lowering his arm and tugging his sleeve down to cover it again. 

Dick squinted at him in the darkness. “Like for a dog?”

“Something like that,” Jason muttered. “Guess it was more humane than carving ‘Damian Wayne’ into my ass with a knife.”

Dick winced at the mental image. He wasn’t even going to try to count the number of levels that was wrong on. “So he put that on you, collared you like…what, a pet?”

“No,” Jason said forcefully, grinding his teeth as an array of indecipherable emotions flickered across his face. “He _gave_ it to me. I put it on myself.”

Dick shook his head, and for a moment he actually wondered if he was awake, or if this was some kind of bizarre dream, because Jason voluntarily submitting – not in a kinky sex game but in something that actually mattered - to anyone, let alone a _Robin_ and a _Wayne_ just defied his reality. “But…why?” 

Jason was silent for a long moment before he said, “Because it’s not a game for me, either.”

In that moment, all of Dick’s misgivings about Damian and Jason’s relationship evaporated like so much fog at sunrise, leaving him with a warmth in his chest and an aching longing that he’d thought he’d banished long ago. On impulse, he scooted closer to Jason and snaked an arm around his waist. After a moment, Jason slung his arm around Dick’s shoulders. Their bodies seemed to remember the pose, and they leaned intuitively into one another, Dick’s head propped comfortably against Jason’s shoulder. They used to sit like this for hours on rooftops all over Gotham and Bludhaven. Dick just couldn’t understand how they could fit so perfectly in every other aspect except one, or how that one tiny difference could tear them so inexorably apart.

“So where do we go from here?” Dick asked into the silence.

Jason took a long drag on his cigarette. He held it a moment and then exhaled a stream of smoke out into the crisp night air. “Hell if I know,” he breathed. 

“You know I-” 

“Don’t,” Jason warned. “Don’t say it.”

So Dick didn’t, though choking it back was like swallowing razor blades.

“I can’t go through this again with you. I won’t,” Jason said flatly. “Last time, it damn near killed both of us. We’ve gotta stop kidding ourselves. This is who I am, and if you can’t accept that, then it’s just not going to work, in any iteration.”

Dick hated how powerless he always felt around Jason. They were caught between a rock and a hard place, in a no win scenario that just kept playing itself out over and over. Each time his heart took a beating, he healed, but there were always cracks leftover, the ones too deep to mend. These days he felt like there were more cracks than anything else, and he just wasn’t sure how much more he could take. Jason was right; they couldn’t go through this again. It just wasn’t fair to either of them, or to Damian for that matter. He felt tears welling in his eyes, and when he closed them, they tracked down his face to soak Jason’s t-shirt. “I know,” he said. “But I do love you, Jay. I always will. You have to know that.” 

“Goddammit, I told you not to say it!” Jason snarled, though his voice was hoarse with barely contained emotion. Dick could feel him trembling against him, but he dared not look up, because if he saw his face, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from making the same mistakes all over again, consequences be damned.

So Dick just hugged him tighter, and growled, “Deal with it, asshole.”

“I fucking hate you, Grayson,” Jason said thickly.

Dick pressed his face to the already damp spot on Jason’s t-shirt. “I hate you too, Jay.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jason made his way into the crowded restaurant with some difficulty. There were people everywhere, talking and laughing and _touching_ him. “Excuse _this,_ ” he’d almost barked at a man who bumped into him in the lobby, but he’d refrained from saying that, or from giving the asshole the follow up punch in the face that he so richly deserved. 

It had been a very long time since he’d been out in public in a social capacity, and even longer since he’d actually dined at a table instead of shovelling cold takeout into his mouth while crouched on a rooftop. Why Damian wanted to meet for dinner in this poncey hellhole was beyond him, though he had a bad feeling brewing in his gut. It was very likely that Bruce had put the kibosh on their relationship during the big reveal this afternoon, and that Damian wanted to break it off somewhere public so he wouldn’t make a scene. But really, that was a laughable tactic. If Jason wanted to make a scene, a bunch of hoity-toity assholes weren’t going to stop him.

A snooty man in a shiny suit accosted Jason at the entrance to the dining room, barring his way with the not-so-subtle positioning of his body. “Can I help you, sir?” 

Jason glared at him. “What?” he barked.

The maître d raised an eyebrow at him. “This restaurant is by reservation only, sir. Do you have a reservation?”

“I’m meeting someone here. Damian Wayne,” Jason said, emphasizing the Wayne part ever so slightly.

The maître d’s face lit with recognition. “Aah, of course, you’re Mr Wayne’s guest. Please, right this way.”

Amazing what a little name-dropping will get you, Jason thought darkly as he followed the prissy man into the dining room. It was a huge restaurant, with big floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Gotham Bay, and elegant little tables with white tablecloths scattered around. Jason started to itch all over, and the horrible suit he’d been told to wear (delivered this afternoon by a confused looking courier) suddenly felt like some kind of medieval torture device. Whoever invented ties was definitely a sadist, he thought as he willed himself to stop twitching. He scanned the tables looking for Damian, but no dice. 

“Ah, here we are, sir,” the waiter said, stepping out of the way to reveal Bruce Wayne himself, smiling at Jason with those blindingly white perfect teeth.

“Shit!” Jason blurted, and backed up so abruptly that he bumped into a waiter behind him.

There was a loud clatter of glassware and cutlery.

“Oh, pardon me, sir!” the waiter exclaimed apologetically, even though it was Jason who had bumped into him.

“Sorry,” Jason mumbled, feeling more flustered than he had been in a very long time.

“Jason,” Bruce said, with another impossibly wide smile. Jason suddenly knew what fish probably felt like right before they were eaten by a shark. For a fraction of a second, he considered bolting, but no, because Dick was right, and running just wasn’t his style. Besides, he was definitely _not_ intimidated by Bruce. “Please, have a seat.”

Jason swallowed hard. He sat down stiffly and tried to ignore the frenetic pounding in his chest. It had been years since he’d seen Bruce in person and without the cowl. Bruce looked much as Jason remembered, and though he was visibly older, with a few more crow’s feet and a smattering of grey at the temples that hadn’t been there before, he was still every inch the smug and imposing bastard he’d always been. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Jason said. He’d been going for nonchalant, but it came out sounding more nervous than anything else. Not that Bruce would’ve bought it anyway, not with that little freak out just now. He really wished the ground would just open up and swallow him. Earthquake, bomb threat, Joker attack, anything to get him out of this nightmare.

“I apologize for the subterfuge, but it seemed necessary. Please don’t blame Damian – I insisted,” Bruce said.

“Why?” Jason demanded.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Because we needed to talk, and because I really like the calamari here.”

Jason inadvertently pulled a face. Unlike Dick, who loved his weird food, he stuck to what he knew - pizza, burgers, and the occasional ethnic takeout, but only if it had been Americanized to within an inch of its life.

Bruce chuckled. “They also serve a very nicely aged porterhouse that I’m sure you’ll like.”

The waiter suddenly appeared at Bruce’s elbow with a bottle of wine, which he made a big deal out of opening and pfaffing about with. Jason would normally have been annoyed by all the pomp but in this case, he was grateful, because it gave him a chance to re-establish some sense of equilibrium. Finally, Bruce ordered both of their meals, and the man went away.

Jason sniffed experimentally at the red wine in his glass, then shrugged and swallowed some of it down. It tasted all right, he supposed, but mostly he drank it because he thought he could use the alcohol. Because…this was really happening. He was really having dinner with Bruce Wayne, and they were talking about the food and smelling the wine and acting like normal human beings.

“This is…surreal,” Jason said finally.

Bruce smiled. Also, all this smiling was really starting to freak Jason out. He wondered if maybe the Joker had poisoned Batman recently, and this was just a residual side effect of the toxin.

“A little, yes,” Bruce agreed. “But it’s been years since we’ve had an actual conversation, and I wanted to get to know the man who’s dating my son.”

Here we go, Jason thought, his hand drifting down to fondle the handle of the knife strapped to his leg, just in case.

Bruce gave him a knowing look. “Relax, Jason. If I wanted to attack you, I wouldn’t have brought you to my favourite restaurant.”

Jason snorted as he deliberately brought both his hands back up onto the table. “All right, so what do you want to know?”

“Your relationship – is it exclusive?”

Jason raised an eyebrow. Wow, right to the point, and yeah, he wasn’t even going to go there. “If you mean, am I screwing around behind his back, then the answer is no.”

Bruce nodded, as though he were ticking off some mental checklist. “And you practice safe sex? I assume you’ve been tested recently.”

Jason’s eye twitched. “Yes and no, but if you’re that concerned, I’ll be happy to provide a blood sample.”

Bruce pulled something from his pocket and slid it unobtrusively across the table. Jason palmed the objects and brought them down into his lap to examine them. Glass vials, for blood. He heaved an exasperated sigh. He’d forgotten that Bruce didn’t really get sarcasm, or if he did, he chose to ignore it.

“You can give them to Damian the next time you see him.”

“Right,” Jason said tightly as he pocketed the vials. “Anything else?”

The waiter arrived just then with their food. Jason blinked in astonishment at the juicy looking steak that the waiter placed in front of him with a flourish. His mouth watered in spite of himself. It had been years since he’d eaten steak. Possibly, it had been Alfred who had served it to him last…or Talia, he supposed, but he pushed that thought away hastily. That had been kind of a low point for him, and no one was going to know about that ever, not if he could help it. Before the waiter had even left, he had his knife and fork in hand and was slicing off a bleeding hunk of meat. The taste was amazing, almost on par with mediocre sex, and he quashed the groan of pleasure threatening to escape him.

“Good?” Bruce asked with a quirk of an eyebrow.

Jason grunted his assent as he forked another chunk of meat into his mouth. Then he paused, belatedly realizing that he was wolfing down his food like a half-starved stray. He cut a glance to his left to find the people at nearby tables giving him a strange look. He glared at them in return, but when he glanced up at Bruce, the amused look in his eye made Jason’s face heat with embarrassment. After that, he straightened up and made an effort to eat properly, because no way was he going to be laughed at by Bruce!

“More wine?” Bruce asked, topping up his glass.

Jason obligingly drank some more of the wine. It tasted better, for some reason, than it had without the food. “So…what else?” he prompted by way of dinner conversation. It was starting to get a little creepy with Bruce just watching him eat while Bruce himself only picked at his food.

“Hmm,” Bruce said contemplatively, although Jason was sure he knew exactly what he was going to say next, had probably formulated his list of talking points hours ago and written them on little five-by-three index cards to practice in the limo on the way over. “As I’m sure you’re aware, my son has had a…unique…childhood. As a result, he can sometimes be…difficult, to say the least.”

“Is there a question in there somewhere?” Jason asked pointedly.

Bruce levelled a dissecting stare at him. “You’re neither unintelligent nor unattractive - surely there are many much less complicated young men and women in this city who would appreciate your attentions.”

“Maybe I like complicated,” Jason replied. “In case you forgot, I had kind of a ‘unique’ childhood, too.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed to shrewd little slits. “Again, there are others who could fulfill this criteria. Why my son?”

Jason quirked an eyebrow at him over his glass of wine. Dick had asked him the same question. Guess the apple didn’t fall as far from the tree as the apple would’ve liked to believe. “You really wanna know?”

“I asked,” Bruce said, spreading his hands in invitation.

Jason sighed and set down his glass and fork. This was obviously one of Bruce’s little pass/fail tests. He’d failed so many of these back when he was Robin, and as usual, he had no idea what he was supposed to say, or what quantified passing and failing. He imagined that Tim probably passed all of these things with flying colours, the little prick. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. God, he wished they were on a rooftop somewhere so he could smoke. It would probably have earned him a disapproving scowl from Bruce, but damn, it would sure take the edge off.

“He’s probably the most real person I’ve ever met,” Jason said finally. “He’s brutally honest, not just with others, but with himself too, which is harder. He doesn’t flinch from anything, not from me, not from you, not even from his own demons. Even you can’t say the same.”

Bruce canted his head slightly, though Jason couldn’t tell whether that was an agreement or merely an acknowledgement of the statement.

“He tries damn hard, every day, to walk the line. I may not agree with his point of view, but I…admire his tenacity. And…” Jason frowned down at the remnants of his dinner, struggling to put into words something that he’d never even fully coalesced in his own mind. “Though he doesn’t agree with my point of view either…” he swallowed hard, “…at least he doesn’t judge me for it.” _…the way you do,_ he didn’t add, though the unspoken sentiment hung in the air between them.

He looked up from his plate to find Bruce scrutinizing him with that calculating stare of his. He glanced away, anger and frustration welling in his chest. Failed, again, what a surprise. 

“Come,” Bruce said, standing abruptly.

Jason’s eyes flicked to the restaurant’s front exit. It was too far away and there were too many obstacles between him and the door to escape before Bruce caught up to him. All the windows were reinforced Plexiglas – he would break an arm before he broke through the window. Out of options, he had no choice but to follow Bruce to the back of the restaurant. 

They went through the kitchens, where no one even looked at them funny, although a few people greeted Bruce by name. Guess you can do whatever you want, when you’re Bruce fucking Wayne, Jason thought miserably. At the back of the kitchen, Bruce pulled open a stairwell door. They ascended the stairs up a few flights until Bruce pushed open the door to the roof. 

Jason breathed a sigh of relief to be out of the stuffy restaurant and under the open sky again. If Bruce was going to throw him off this building, then well, at least he wasn’t going to die in a poncey restaurant from a bad case of fork in the eye. Bruce turned to face him, and Jason had to resist the urge to reach for his knife again. As it was, his fingers twitched reflexively at his side.

“I want to give you something,” Bruce said.

Jason tensed, his body automatically sliding into a defensive posture. “If it’s advice, then you can save your breath. If it’s a beating, then bring it, old man.”

“Neither,” Bruce said curtly. “It’s an open invitation to my home. You’re welcome there, any time you-”

“ _That’s_ your carrot?” Jason interrupted. “If I fall in line, I get to come over for milk and cookies? If that’s-”

“No, Jason,” Bruce cut him off. “Not some day in the highly improbable future when you’ve cleaned up your act, now. You’re welcome at the manor now, any time you want.”

Jason’s mouth fell open in shock. “But…but you hate me!” he blurted.

Bruce suddenly lashed out at him, and before Jason could block him, Bruce had him by the back of the neck. Jason struggled to break his grip, until he realized that Bruce wasn’t trying to get in a nerve strike, or strangle him, or get enough of a grip on him to pitch him off the roof. He stilled, and the iron clamp on his neck gradually relaxed into a fatherly, if somewhat firm, squeeze. 

Bruce was so close that Jason could smell his expensive aftershave. It was too close, too much and he could barely breathe with Bruce’s intense gaze boring into his skull like a laser beam. “I don’t hate you, Jason. You’re my son, and I love you.”

Jason’s heart raced, and for a critical moment, he thought possibly he’d died again, or was about to die, or was asleep and Bruce would commence choking him at any moment. He blinked away the sweat dripping down his face and into his eyes. 

“What?” he said intelligently.

Bruce made that little disappointed sighing sound that used to cut Jason to the quick. It still hurt – would never not hurt, probably – but it was a dull ache now, like a twinge from an old injury on a rainy day. “I will never condone your methods, and I am still deeply disappointed in the path you’ve chosen for yourself, but despite that, I will always love you.”

Jason started breathing again. Right, all that ‘hate the sin, love the sinner’ crap was entirely too Bruce for this to be a dream. Then it hit him – this was real, and the potential ramifications were mind-blowing. A part of him, the cold, calculating detective part, told him that this was just Bruce being tactical – a way to hook him in and keep him in line. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. An invitation to the house wasn’t an invitation back into the family, and as it was with Dick, none of this changed anything between them fundamentally. 

But there was another part of him, buried deep beneath the layers of scar tissue, the part that made his heart race at Bruce’s admission of love, that had kept him on Dick’s rooftop last night long after he should have gone home, that now reminded him that beyond the manipulations, Bruce was offering him a very real chance here. Not a chance to return to the life he once had, but a chance to make a new beginning, to cast off the shackles of what could have been and never was, and forge new relationships based on the here and now. 

“This is a big step for you,” he said finally.

“For both of us,” Bruce amended. Then he did something totally inconceivable, and gave Jason an affectionate pat on the back. While Jason was still reeling from shock, Bruce abruptly turned and strolled back to the stairwell door. At the last second, he paused. “Jason?” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t screw this up.” 

Then he disappeared into the stairwell, leaving Jason alone on the roof.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long delay! It was hard graft trying to write an ending that I hoped would satisfy everyone. This was compounded by stupid IRL stuff. Ah well, here it is in the end, and I hope you like it!

Damian clicked through the articles in the online Gotham Gazette with only cursory interest. When he’d awoken this morning to find Jason missing, he’d been more than a little disappointed. Apparently, his machinations of the previous evening had not been as successful as he’d initially thought. Grayson had then informed him in rather painstaking fashion over lunch that he and Jason had had a long talk, and had come to the conclusion that they “just weren’t meant to be.” Damian had been irritated by the phrasing, because really, fate was a crutch that weaklings used to excuse their ineptitude, but he’d given Grayson a pass because A. he’d looked like he’d been weeping all night and B. it was probably polite code for “I’m not giving you the details.” It was one of the many things he appreciated about Jason; he saw no need for the social codes and niceties that just meant Damian had to work harder to figure out what he was really saying. In the end, Grayson had assured him that they had worked through their difficulties to achieve “closure”, whatever that meant, and that neither of them had regretted the activities of the previous evening. Damian had been relieved to hear that last part especially, though he was of course disappointed, as he’d rather enjoyed the experience, and had been hoping to repeat it. No matter, at least Grayson had agreed to give them his blessing, provided Jason continued in his current vein of stable, non-psychotic behaviour. Despite being somewhat perturbed by Jason’s abrupt departure and subsequent radio silence, Damian had left Grayson’s apartment after lunch with some modicum of confidence about the imminent confrontation with his father.

The talk with his father had, as expected, been difficult for both of them, but his father had been surprisingly receptive. Halfway through the conversation, Damian had been forced to consider the possibility that his father already knew about his relationship with Todd, and had just been waiting to see if he’d come forward of his own accord. If that was true, then in some ways, it was a relief, because if his father really had been surveilling them, then he would’ve known the truth from his own observations, thus eliminating the need for long-winded explanations and justifications such as Grayson had required. That probably explained why they had come to an understanding so quickly.

He wondered how the dinner was proceeding. It had been over an hour since it began – it should have been concluded by now. He shifted in his seat. He hoped nothing untoward had occurred.

The sound of the tumblers turning in the door locks startled Damian so badly that he almost dropped his laptop on the floor. He quickly put the computer away and hurried to the door. It opened a moment later to admit Jason…wearing a suit, and a really expensive one, from the looks of it. He looked so sharp that it made Damian’s mouth fill with saliva and he had to bite back a sudden, powerful surge of lust. He contained himself, however, because he doubted Jason would appreciate being attacked as he came through his front door, particularly after a no doubt harrowing experience with his father.

Jason pulled up short. “Damian. Come right in, make yourself at home.”

Damian shrugged the comment off as nonsensical. For all his forthrightness, Jason too occasionally succumbed to making pointless or irrational statements. “How was dinner?”

“It was fine,” Jason said.

Damian eyed him critically. Jason didn’t seem angry, per se, but he didn’t seem as happy or relieved as Damian had expected him to be, if the conversation had indeed been ‘fine’. “I apologise for the ruse. I couldn’t refuse him. You’re not angry, are you?”

“Why would I be angry?” Jason asked as he pushed past Damian and stalked into the kitchen. 

Damian contained a sigh. All right, so maybe Jason was a little angry. But he’d already apologized once – he wasn’t going to do it again. “Did he tell you about the house?” he asked, switching to a hopefully happier topic. 

“Yeah,” Jason replied. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and Damian had to jump out of the doorway to avoid getting shoulder-checked again as Jason proceeded into the living area.

“It’s good news, isn’t it?” Damian prompted.

“Sure,” Jason said.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Damian snapped. It had been an anxious, stressful day for him, too, and what little patience he had was wearing thin.

“Look,” Jason said, turning abruptly on him. Damian couldn’t help but take a defensive step back as he noticed Jason’s hands clenching into fists. An air of restrained violence rolled off of Jason in nearly palpable waves. “I can’t do this right now. Maybe you should go.”

Damian gaped at him as something hot and frustrated and downright _painful_ ignited in his chest. “But...” he trailed off, at a loss as to what to say. They’d succeeded, hadn’t they? Grayson, his father, they’d convinced them. This was supposed to be a happy moment – what was going on? Why was Jason acting this way?

As if realising what he was doing, Jason took a deliberate step back and unclenched his hands. “Fuck, that isn’t...I mean…” he trailed off with a frustrated growl. “It’s just…it’s a lot to take in, and I just…I can’t…” 

All at once, Damian saw past his own hurt and confusion to the man _unravelling_ before his eyes. “Stop,” he said, cutting Jason off. “Come here.”

“I don’t-”

“Come. Here.” Damian repeated, his tone like suede-wrapped steel.

For a moment, he thought Jason would refuse, but then Jason heaved an irritated sigh and crossed the room to stand in front of him. From force of habit, Jason automatically assumed a respectful, submissive posture, eyes trained on the floor, arms hanging loosely by his sides, hands relaxed in a soft curl. Damian noted that he already seemed calmer, as though the simple commands and clear expectations had helped to cut through his emotional turmoil. Damian understood what it was like to feel like you were drowning in a sea of uncertainty, to have people thrust their expectations upon you without giving you any idea of how you were meant to fulfil them, to feel confusion and frustration, hope and fear and love and despair all at the same time so that you could barely discern what you were feeling let alone deduce how you were meant to act. 

“Look at me.” It wasn’t something Damian usually demanded when they were both standing, and Jason hesitated for a fraction of a second before he met his gaze. Damian frowned at the dark circles under Jason’s eyes, stark against his abnormally pale skin. He looked beyond exhausted, and Damian remembered that he hadn’t slept much, if at all, in the last four days. “Whatever it is, it can wait. Come to bed,” he said, taking Jason’s hand in his. 

Jason winced. “I really-”

“To sleep, Todd,” Damian interrupted. “No drinking, no smoking, and no sex. Tonight, you’re sleeping, if I have to tie you to the bed all night.”

Jason snorted and rolled his eyes, but he let Damian drag him to the bed.

“Sit,” Damian directed.

Jason sat down on the bed, although it was really more like a controlled collapse. 

Damian deftly untied his tie for him. “Tt,” he scolded. “A three-year-old could’ve done a better job of tying this tie.”

“’zat so?” Jason said, yawning widely.

Damian pulled the tie through Jason’s collar and folded it neatly on the table. He slid the jacket off next and hung it over the back of one of the chairs.

“You don’t have to do that, y’know,” Jason said. “I’m probably going to burn it in the morning.”

Damian glared at him. “That’s criminal. It’s a Valentino, and it looks stunning on you.”

“Forget it, I’m not wearing it again,” Jason said petulantly. “It feels like it’s made from sewed together fire ants.”

Damian unbuttoned the shirt and carefully eased it off Jason’s shoulders. “That’s because your back is still healing. Besides, you can’t expect everything to be as comfortable as a t-shirt.”

“Why not?” Jason complained.

Damian shot him a pained look. “Because you’re not a toddler, even if you apparently have the manual dexterity of one.”

Jason sighed and laid back on the bed while Damian worked on unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his trousers. “I don’t see a point in wearing uncomfortable clothes that I can barely move in.”

“It’s not combat gear. The point is the way it looks, not its comfort or utility. If you wear it again for me, I promise I’ll take you somewhere that you’ll actually enjoy,” Damian said as he draped the trousers over the chair. 

“I’m pretty sure no place I like is going to have a dress code,” Jason groused.

Damian turned off the lights and crawled into bed, pulling the covers up over both of them. Then he snuggled down next to Jason and threw an arm over his chest and a leg over his thighs. 

“Shut up, Todd,” he growled in Jason’s ear.

A soft snore was his only answer.

***

Damian moaned in his sleep. Something was different, his half-asleep brain told him, but it wasn’t a threat. It was actually rather pleasant. He squirmed as another warm wave of sensation washed over him. Yes, definitely nice.

“Hmm?” he mumbled, reaching down to touch himself. Instead, he touched something else, something hard and hairy. His eyes snapped open and he half sat up.

“Good morning,” Jason said, smirking at him from between Damian’s legs.

Damian’s lips twitched. “I assume you slept well. Is this an apology for your behaviour last night?” 

“Hmmm,” Jason hummed around Damian’s dick.

Damian threw his head back and bit back a gasp. “Apology accepted,” he all but yelped as Jason did something decidedly wicked with his tongue. He really had no idea how Todd managed to do these things with just his mouth. He’d had a couple girlfriends and a boyfriend back in highschool, and none of them had performed to quite this level. The slippy wet swirl of saliva and tongue, the friction and heat of lips and soft palate, the sloppy, filthy sucking sounds – somehow, Jason had it all working in concert to drive him inexorably mad. He fisted his hands in the sheets, writhing in breath-hitching pleasure as Jason worked him over with the sort of intense care and thoroughness he exhibited when cleaning and servicing his guns. 

Damian groaned when he thought about Jason’s hands, deftly disassembling his favourite Glock, the control, the precision, the _power_. His back arched off the bed as his orgasm hit suddenly, an unexpected explosion of sensation that ripped all coherent thought from his mind. “J-ay-“ he choked out. Slowly, he relaxed back onto the bed, releasing his murderous grip on the sheets as he began to breathe again.

It suddenly occurred to him how he could make good on his promise the other night to make it up to Jason. He’d buy him a custom 1911 – maybe a matched set, with titanium frames – and then...well, then maybe they could have some fun with them. He smirked as the myriad possibilities gyrated a siren’s dance through his mind.

“You look like you’re plotting something,” Jason said as he flopped down next to him. “Should I be worried?” 

“Yes,” Damian said frankly. He rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow so he could look Jason in the eye. Jason looked much improved from the previous night, the dark smudges under his eyes having faded noticeably. His eyes were a clear blue-green, sharp, with only a hint of redness around the edges. He looked so content that Damian hated to spoil the mood, but apology blowjob or not, he couldn’t just sweep everything that had happened yesterday under the rug and forget about it. 

“What?” Jason asked, his eyes clouding with suspicion.

Damian contained a sigh. “We need to talk about what happened yesterday,” he said without preamble.

Jason’s suspicion darkened into an apprehensive frown. “I’m not Dick, you know. I don’t need to talk about everything all the time.”

“I don’t expect you to prattle endlessly about your every thought and feeling – I couldn’t think of anything more tedious,” Damian said. “But I know that the last few days have been difficult for you, and I…I need to know that you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” Jason assured him. “What about you? Are you all right?”

Damian raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him, but he said, “Both Father and Grayson have accepted you. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve won a major coup.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Jason said in a strained voice.

“No?” Damian prompted.

Jason sighed. “Look, it’s a step forward on both fronts, and that’s good, more or less. But you have to understand that this shit with Bruce and Dick, it’s always one step forward and two steps back. So you’ll forgive me if I wait for the other shoe to drop before I start celebrating. Also, my issues with Bruce and Dick? They’re just that, _my_ issues. They don’t affect us, and they’re not for you to worry about. So just…drop it!” 

Damian contemplated the request for a moment before he said, “On one condition.” He grasped Jason’s jaw in a firm grip and forced him to look him in the eye. “You _will_ tell me if it becomes too much to handle alone. My first indication that something is wrong had better not be one of your psychotic little stunts. Do I make myself clear?”

Anger flared white-hot in Jason’s eyes, and Damian belatedly realised his mistake. Damn it, that wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Actually, that’s exactly what he’d meant to say, but that’s not how he’d meant Jason to take it. 

“Crystal,” Jason hissed. He jerked out of Damian’s grip and started to get up.

“We’re not done here,” Damian said, sliding out of the bed in pursuit.

“The hell we aren’t!” Jason said as he snatched his shirt off the floor. 

Damian moved to intercept him, effectively blocking his escape. 

“Get out of my way,” Jason gritted. His eyes were hard, flat, his voice edged with an unspoken threat. 

“No,” Damian said, calling his bluff. He slid into a defensive stance, making it clear that Jason would have to fight him if he wanted out of the room. “You’re not running, not this time.”

Silence stretched between them as each stood his ground and refused to back down. Finally, Jason broke the tension with a snarl of frustration. “What the hell do you want from me?” 

“I want you to talk to me, you emotionally stunted man-child!” Damian exploded. “How is it that you trust me enough to collar you, but you can’t trust me enough to tell me what’s going on inside your head?”

“Goddammit, I _do_ trust you; that’s not what this is about!” Jason shouted. “I just don’t want you to be stuck in the middle if everything goes tits up with Bruce and Dick. You shouldn’t have to choose between your father, your brother, and your boyfriend, and you shouldn’t have to pay for my mistakes.”

Damian flung his hands up in sheer exasperation. “So your solution is to shut me out? That’s the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m on a team with a guy who calls himself ‘Beast Boy’! I’m already in the middle of this whether you like it or not, and I don’t need you to protect me. Why does everyone suddenly think I need protecting? Grayson, Father, now you? I’m not some fragile child!”

“God, it must be so horrible to have so many people care so damn much about you!” Jason sneered.

“I know you’re mocking me, but do you have any idea how irritating it is to be treated this way?” Damian demanded.

“No, I don’t, because no one ever gave a shit about me!” Jason yelled.

“Well _I do_!” Damian shouted back. 

Jason stared at him in stunned silence, as though Damian had slapped him or some other equally inappropriate thing. After a moment he said in a softer though no less adamant tone, “You know, this shit with Dick and Bruce is just the tip of the iceberg. It’s not going to get any easier. There’s a reason why Dick, Sasha, Bruce…why they all left in the end.” He frowned, turning away so that Damian couldn’t see his expression. “You would too, if you knew what was good for you.”

“Is there something wrong with your listening comprehension skills?” Damian snapped. He circled around to face Jason, because damned if he was going to let him hide from him. “I just told you that I don’t need you to protect me. I’m not going anywhere, so you’d better get used to it, Todd!” he said, jabbing a finger at Jason to punctuate his words. 

A multitude of emotions flickered over Jason’s features. “Damian…” he started, though it soon became clear that he had no idea how to finish that thought.

There was a moment of awkward hesitation, then suddenly they were reaching for one another, seeking to demonstrate in action what they could never say in words. They met somewhere in the middle in a fierce, desperate hug. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Damian repeated. He fisted a hand in Jason’s hair and jerked his head back possessively. “You’re _mine_ ,” he growled in Jason’s ear.

Jason shivered as his arms tightened around Damian. “Yours,” he agreed readily.

Damian kissed him then, insistent, demanding, and Jason yielded to him, letting him sweep into his mouth, claiming him, owning him as he went, and yes, Damian thought, this was just as it should be, and maybe even as it was meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read and liked and commented on my stuff! It was my first fic in the fandom, and I am thrilled to bits at the warm reception I've received. You're all simply maarvellous, so as a thank you, I shall gift you a porny extra scene to this fic, which I will post in due course. :)


End file.
